Beauty's in the Eye
by robspace54
Summary: A series of adventures in Port Wenn tended to by Doctor Martin Ellingham, who is beset by an unusal combination of cases.
1. Chapter 1

Ear

"Morning Doc!" Pauline Lamb calls as she clumps into the waiting room, dropping a large satchel on her desk.

"Pauline, don't shout! I'm not deaf!" I answer. I glance at my watch. "Pauline, you're late!"

"I'm not shouting," she calls back. "You're shouting…" she trails off and finishes with "And I'm not late, you're early."

I march into the waiting room and tower over her. "Pauline, don't argue with me." I push my watch into her face, as she turns on the computer. "See? 8:45!"

"Alright, alright. So I'm 15 minutes late, I'll catch up at lunch."

"What? You mean you will forego a forty-five minute chat with Al Large today? And clear off this rubbish." I poke her satchel splayed over the appointment book, phone and supplies.

She stands and growls. "It's not rubbish and I need a cuppa." She pushes past me and heads to the kitchen.

"And besides…" Before I can finish the front door opens and a teenager slinks in.

Pauline stops and grins at me, with delight. "Miss Ellis, your 8:45, doc. Morning!"

"Morning," the blonde girl mutters. She's wearing shorts, a tank top, and sandals. Not remarkable.

Cut off in a much awaited upbraiding I can only follow through. "Ah, yes, morning." I say to the girl. "Go through." I direct her to the consulting room.

I follow the girl who I've not seen before. "Sit down."

She slumps on the chair in front of the glass and steel desk, which I just cleaned and polished. "Have I seen you before?"

"Well, not in surgery, have you?" she snarls. "But I'm registered and all that."

"Oh, right. Well, Miss Ellis…"

"Judy."

"Judy, what seems to be the problem?" 

"This." She pulls long blonde hair from over her left ear. "It hurts."

"Oh, haven't seen one of those in a while." The ear is inflamed and twice normal size.

"An ear?"

"No you silly girl, of course I have seen ears before. Haven't seen a giant aural cellulitis in this surgery." I point to the examination table. "Sit on the examination table, please."

She sits on the table as I pull on gloves and bring out my otolaryngoscope. Just charged the battery and the light is nice and bright. "Let me just look…" I touch her ear and she jumps. I feel her forehead – it feels above normal temp. The eardrum also looks slightly red, not a healthy color.

"Owww! God that hurts, doc! Be careful!"

"Just examining the tissue." Her entire ear is swollen, hot to the touch, and firm under pressure of my fingers. "How did this happen?"

"I donnoh. Just happened. Woke up yesterday and it was like this."

I see a small scabby spot on the front of the upper aspect of the ear. "What is this…" I start then see another spot on the rear of her ear. I roll back my exam chair and give her a hard stare. "You've been piercing your ears!"

"No, have not. Not me."

I strip off the gloves and throw them at the bin. At the desk I pull out a prescription pad. "No of course you haven't. But I suppose that one of your little friends just happened to come at you with a hot sewing needle, I'd say in the last three days, and she just happened to jab you in the ear! Right through too!"

"Well. Brigit and me was talking about pierced ears – my dad and mum don't like 'em – and we thought we could do it?" She touches the ear and winces. "Then this. Can you help doc?"

"Just the one ear?"

"God yes. It hurt like hell, sorry doc."

I take her temperature and the digital thermometer shows it's elevated one degree. "Been draggy have you? Been eating well?"

"A bit. Couldn't eat breakfast nor tea yesterday either."

"You have a cellulitis of the ear. It's caused by bacteria. The bacteria that we all have on our skins. By driving that needle into your ear you've allowed bacteria to fester. Now you see the result! You also are running a slight temperature as the bacteria have gotten a hold."

"But Brigit heated the needle with a match!"

"Typical. Been talking with your friends and you injure yourself."

The girl looks downfallen. "My mum will kill me, and when dad gets home from work, well…"

"I'll prescribe an antibiotic. You can also keep a warm, not hot, compress on it, which will promote blood flow to the organ."

"Ok," she replies. "Will it take long to get better? My dad works on one of them oil rigs and if it's gone by the time he gets home in ten day..."

"Yes. It will be fine. Your mother… she uh…"

"Mum works nights. I'm in bed by the time she gets home form working at the Lamb Pub." The girl brightens. "So they don't have to know."

"No, I suppose not. Unless you tell them."

"You won't?"

"No. You are my patient." I start to write the notes. "You're how old?"

"Seventeen this past month.'

"Right. Well this is not life threatening, and does not involve a major injury, but…"

"But what?"

"If this happens again, to you or to your friend Brigit, then… I must."

"God no! Never again." She slips off the exam table.

"I do recommend that you talk to your parents about this. It doesn't do to keep secrets." The girl looks about to cry. "Look, if you want pierced ears, I can do them for you. Here in surgery under sterile conditions. Not in some mucky bedroom with a sooty needle. Understand!"

"Yes, doc."

I hand her a tissue. "Ellingham."

"What?" she sniffles.

"I prefer Doctor Ellingham."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." She grabs the prescription slip and turns to the door. "Oh and doc? "

"Yes."

"Sorry about teasing you."

I can't recall ever having seen the girl before. "I'm sorry I don't seem to remember; when was this?"

"Oh, you know." She flees.

Silly girl. "Next patient!" I call to Pauline. Teenagers!


	2. Chapter 2

Large

I thought all was going relatively well, that is for Portwenn, until Bert Large came into the surgery mid-morning. Bert has tried his hand at almost everything, and also has an opinion about everything. Just now he and Al are running their restaurant and from what Aunty Joan has told they are almost making a go of it.

"So I was sayin' doc…" he began, "to this fellow who was eatin' with us the other day. He had the Cornwall salad, followed by the …"

"What is the problem Bert?"

"Well, doc, you see…"

"Come, come! Get on with it."

"Doc." He sighed deeply, his double, possibly triple chin, wobbling as he spoke. "You see, I've always had this little problem."

"Yes, and it is?"

"I don't know if you've noticed this before?"

"Noticed? Noticed what, Bert? Come on man. Out with it. I have patients waiting!"

"I mean you bein' a very well educated person and doctor and all that. And quite good, excellent really, on seeing things for what they are, not for what they seem."

I just gave him a frosty stare feeling my lips compress as my jaw clenched tightly. 

"No matter what or where, no sir, you just blurt it out." Seeing my unease he spoke faster. "Right. Well, doc, you see… perhaps you haven't ever noticed, or maybe you were just bein' polite…" the pause grew into many seconds.

I urged him to finish with my look of aggrieved impatience.

"Doc…I'm a heavy person."

"I see."

"I knew it. Well then! I knew you'd figure it out."

"Figure - figure what out?"

"It's me weight."

"Yes. Albert I can tell that you are a person of, impressive proportions, but what of it?"

"Well, doc," here he took off his knit cap and started to twist it. "I've been talking to people at the restaurant, and by the way if you ever, and I mean ever want something special from us, food that is, you just ask. A nice bit of salmon or a lovely trout… ooh, and we'd got the most wonderful crabs in…"

"Bert? Why are you wasting my time discussing food?"

"Ah, doc, that's what I like about you. Always wantin' to come to the point."

"Your point being?"

"Doc," he looked about furtively. "I want to lose weight."

"Yes. Well let's get you onto the scale."

Bert shuffled to the scale and the metal groaned as he descended upon it. The dial swung madly then slowed and stopped. Doc Sim's scale was one of the few things that I kept. It was ancient, like everything else in Portwenn, but it worked. Usually. Today it did.

"Yes, well that's about…" I began.

"It's bad, isn't? I knew!" Bert rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I told Al those petit fours he was buyin' would be the death of me! Why I can stand there at the dessert table and shovel those things straight in."

I picked up Bert's record sheet and compared his last weigh in months back. I opened my pen and wrote down a number. "Yes, Bert, it's just about thirty…"

"Oh my god, I've gained thirty pounds? That's over two stone, isn't it? Lordy. They'll have to order a double casket… how long have I got, doc?" He wiped sweat from his meaty face with thick fingers. He continued with his circumlocution about caskets, funerals, and whether Al would cater the wake.

"Bert! Shut UP!"

He ground to a halt. "Ok, doc. Give it to me straight."

"Bert, you now weigh 30 pounds LESS than you did four months back. Nice to see that you have stayed on the diet I've put on."

"Less? I weigh less? How can that be, doc?"

"Well, running the restaurant is clearly good for you. All that moving about – kitchen to table and back – you're clearly burning more calories than you consume. More than you did as a plumber." This was not hard to figure as in their plumbing business Al did all the work, while Bert was seated nearby on bucket or commode and if not flapping his gums about who knew what, he was absorbing a fairy cake and a tea.

"Burning more calories? That's amazin'! Doc, you mean, I'm a healthy man?"

I looked at the large man in front of me. "Bert, you know that's not true. Your triglycerides are likely elevated from all those desserts, I notice that every dish you fix in the restaurant is cooked with butter and you were certainly huffing and puffing as you came in. So I want Pauline to schedule a complete physical sometime in the next two week. Yes?"

"Alright doc. I'm just tryin' to build up my spirit."

"Oh. Are you depressed?"

"No it's just that…"

"What Bert?" Come on. Other patients are waiting!"

"Patients are waitin? My, my old Doc Martin makin' puns during office hours. He-he!"

I could only shake my head. "Bert, if I may interrupt your gleeful feeling about the news of your weight reduction or my prospects as a comic, please stop."

"Now, you know what would elevate my spirits?" His face lit and he smiled as only Bert can.

"No."

"It's female companionship doc. Women. Not to marry, per se, but just to have one around. Someone to hold once in a while, like you and your Miss Glasson."

"Louisa? Louisa… what does Louisa have to do with this?" I rocked back in my chair. "And she is not MY Miss Glasson. Now out you go."

"Oh, sorry. But that's what I been tryin' to tell you. Old Bert he does ramble on a bit, and I'm sorry about that, it is my nature, you see." He smiled broadly. "I want to lose weight because I think I might have a girlfriend, and…"

"Yes?" I look at my watch and see that I am falling behind on the schedule, already full and likely getting fuller while Bert Large prattled on.

"Well, I want to get fit, you know, really get back to my fightin' weight, if you know what I mean."

"Ah. Well, stay on your diet, keep eating plenty of vegetables and fruit, walk more, just like we discussed before. Keep on the plan! Good job on losing weight. Now please make that appointment with Pauline on the way out."

"Thanks doc, it's been a load off my mind. Load…off… my mind! Get it? No? Well you wouldn't."

I go back to his records. "Goodbye Bert and stay off those desserts."

He went to the door, opened it then turned to face me. "But doc, she _is_ your Miss Glasson, we all can see it. Somehow _you_ can't!"

"Out!" He went. "Next patient."


	3. Chapter 3

Improve

Humans are strange creatures. They will do any number of things to change, highlight, or improve their appearance. Whether they are required, or not.

Mrs. Tallack went on. "So, I thought while the mister is away and this is what I always wanted, I went."

"I see. And Mr. Tallack left long enough to get the procedure…"

"Eighteen weeks he was in Brazil for this training course he's on. So I flew down to Cadiz, had the most lovely connection through Madrid."

"Um. This doesn't look bad but…"

"Well I told you it itches, it's almost like I'm being stuck somewhere under my left one."

My magnifying glass showed a smooth surface, transitioning to a puckered line, interrupted every few millimeters with a tiny puckered bump. "Well the surgeon did a fine job. These stitches are very small and they did an excellent match on the tissue."

"I told you they were great, really super."

I grunted again. She was lying on my examination table, while I examined her chest. I was surveying the skin under Mrs. Tallack's breasts. She was complaining about post operative pain and discomfort, so I was making a careful exam.

She went on. "Well, I can tell that you're appreciating the work."

"Yes, they are, rather, I mean, it really is fine work."

"But it feels sort of funny."

"Funny?" The incisions were neat, freshly pink, but there was something… "Just a moment."

She grinned down at me. "I can tell you're enjoying yourself. Seeing another surgeon's work come out so well."

"Mrs. Tallack, I'm not enjoying myself…"

"You certainly _are_ giving them the look, aren't you?" She leered at me. "After all…"

I looked her in the face, her newly enlarged left breast now below my line-of-sight. I remembered her as a rather mousy person, small bones, thin, brown hair. Now she was bleached blonde, appeared to be wearing blue contact lenses, with her bosoms impressively enlarged. Yes the surgeon had done fine work.

"Mrs. Tallack! Do you think I do this for fun? Do you? This is my job. Now shut up, please." I refocused my attention on the skin. I could see, ah just there. There was a tiny filament. "These appear to be resorbable sutures."

"That's what they said. Resorbable! That was the word I couldn't think of!"

I rolled my chair away and returned with a tiny pair of tweezers. Just as I grasping the end of the thread I heard Pauline screech through the door.

"Doc!" Doc?"

"WHAT!" I screamed.

"There's a call for you from the Lamb. Something about an entrapment in one of the guest rooms. A tourist…"

"Entrapment?" Saying this I pulled and a broken filament emerged. "Ah."

"Well doc? What should I tell them? Jim sounds really panicky!"

"Is it life threatening?" My mined raced what could happen in a pub.

"Just a minute!" I heard Pauline mutter into the handset. "No, but they've got some body stuck, like."

"Alright! Alright!" Never a dull moment in the backwater of Portwenn. "Cover yourself." I pushed my roller chair back as she dressed.

"What did you find?"

"Mrs. Tallack you have undergone an operation, two actually, on your chest. The incisions were deep and wide to prepare for the prostheses. I assume they're saline?"

"Oh, yes. That's what they recommended."

"Well, continue with the postoperative regimen, exercises, and so forth. And I see you're wearing a decent sports bra."

"That's what they told me." She finished buttoning her blouse. The fasteners were barely adequate to the task. "Well what was it, doctor? It felt sort of itchy."

"One of the sutures broke and pulled through the skin. I removed it."

She looked upset.

"And?"

"But I'm afraid, doctor."

"Afraid? No medical reason for you to be."

"Well, what if my mister, he don't like 'em? Or like me?"

"Oh! He doesn't know."

"No. It's a surprise."

I sighed. "Mrs. Tallack when does you husband return?"

Pauline screeched again. "Doc? Are you going to the pub? They want to know?"

"Yes, Pauline. I'll be off in a moment." I yelled back. "Now let me finish!"

"Well, he'll get home on Wednesday." She wrung her hands.

I rummaged in my desk. "Here," I said, handing the woman a card. "This phone number is a center for counseling. If you wish, call them, and discuss the issues. But I'm certain things will work out."

"Thank you, doctor."

"There may be certain adjustments… for both of you… uh, well." The woman was upset, but I had no time! "If not, have your husband come see me. Right?"

"Yes, thanks."

"And now I must go."

"Well, I was only improving myself, you know."

I grabbed my large case and opening the door dashed out, leaving Mrs. Tallack to follow.

Pauline stared at me as I left. "Took you long enough."

"Pauline… oh never mind! Make way!" I yelled to part the sea of patients.

As I got to the door I heard Pauline speak to my back. "What was you doing in there doc?"


	4. Chapter 4

Struck

As I ran down the hill, I called Police Constable Joe Penhale on my mobile. He answered straight away.

"Hello, doctor!"

"Joe, I'm on the way to the Lamb Pub where there is some sort of entrapment. I don't have any details. Meet me there."

"Right! Tally ho!"

I could not wait until our local constable arrived. I'm certain that whatever we found he would chalk it up to hooligans. But various horrific scenes played out in my head. Entrapment – a term usually used with motor crashs or the like. No telling. I jammed the mobile back in my pocket while thoughts flew by – falling furniture or some sort of builder's accident, perhaps.

Past the harbor up hill again on Rose Hill, and rounded the corner to the pub. The Lamb Pub, a reasonable place, more tourists than I like, but the food is adequate. I know that Louisa liked the wine they stocked, that is, when I managed to actually meet her.

There was a small crowd gathered by the door. "Make way!" They pushed apart and I made the door. The barmaid was standing there with a worried look. "Doc, thank God you're here. Quick! Upstairs."

I pounded up the stairs as the woman yelled, "Room seven!"

Down the narrow corridor, several doors stood open and a maid was clearing them out. I tangled with a pile of towels and sheets, knocking them over.

"Damn, man," she yelled at me, "those are clean!"

"Emergency! Sorry." I brushed past her to the end of the hall. Room seven. The door was open and I could hear squealing from inside.

"Now, now honey, just calm down!" The voice was male and American.

"Calm down? You calm down!" The second voice, the squealer, was female, also American and quite angry. "Just get this damn thing off me! Hurry I'm getting burned too!"

The American man was crouching on the bed, which was quite close to the tiny room's walls. A woman's legs were sticking out between the bed and the wall, while the pub manager, John Nance, was trying to lever the bed aside.

John brightened as I came in. "Oh, doc! Glad you're here. Can you help shift this thing?"

"Ok. Just get it off her!" The lightly built American man leaped off the bed and the three of us managed to shift the heavy bed sideways, enough for her to sit up.

"Ma'am, can you wiggle out?"

"Yeah, I think I can. Steve, the thing is still plugged in, can you unplug it?"

"Sweetie, are you ok?" asked the man.

"No! I'm not ok. Do I look like I'm ok?"

I straightened up and saw the woman, thirty-ish blonde, peroxide likely, wearing a bright dressing gown with a curling iron stuck in her hair. She held the footboard and stood up.

"Hon, let's just get…"

"Who are you?" asked the woman, "I'll bet you're not the welcome wagon!"

I straightened my suit jacket. "Ma'am or miss, I am Dr. Martin Ellingham GP, general practitioner in this town."

"Town? You call this a town?"

The man came to my defense. "Honey, there's no need to be nasty, is there? The guy's come to help, don't be so…"

She gave him a sour look. "Bitchy? Listen, doc, you can go to…" She cut off as her eyes rolled and she started to fall. The man tried to catch her, but she fell into my arms as she slumped forward.

"Let me help!" exclaimed John Nance.

Between the two of us, the American less than useful, we levered the woman to the bed. I noticed the bedclothes were rumpled and sweaty. She was naked under the dressing gown. I took her pulse – thready – breathing shallow.

"You!" I shouted to the man. "What's her name? And yours as well?"

"She's Brenda and I'm Steve Trent. We just got over here from Detroit. Took the direct flight to Heathrow, then the train to that odd little station; Bodman, was that it? Then a taxi here."

"Bodmin; it's called Bodmin." I put on the blood pressure cuff, took a reading. "A little low." Her face was flushed and so was her chest. I smelled her breath and it reeked of alcohol. I looked at John and Steve. "Well there's your answer – this woman is inebriated."

Steve answered. "Well, she might have had a little on the plane, and we did have a couple in bar."

John looked at me. "Sir, I don't mean to have to disagree, but I think it were more like two… two bottles!"

I examined the thing stuck in her hair. It was a spring loaded device, with moveable clips to heat and curl hair. The thing was firmly entangled and it was still hot to the touch. Too tangled to remove swiftly and I was concerned about any further burning.

"What you think, doctor?" John asked. "She bumped her head too?"

I plyed surgical shears to free the iron trimming some hair away. Underneath the mass of hair the scalp had a large red burn with three small blisters. The burn was secondary to the lump on the back of her head. "Here's the burn from the iron and there _is_ a bump on her head."

Steve twisted his hands. "Is she alright, doc? She took a hell of fall."

A flashlight exam of her pupils was non-remarkable although the fumes coming from her mouth were quite strong. John said two bottles – more like three.

"Well, doesn't appear to be a concussion either…" I was interrupted by shouting coming from the hallway.

"On the way, doctor!" PC Penhale burst in as if the local bank was being held up by gun toting bandits. "I'm here, doc! Now what's going on? A case of domestic violence?" Penhale's face was flushed and was a funny orange tint.

"No, don't think so…" Joe – always so, excited.

"Now - you!" He shouted at Steve Trent. "You been bashing her about, have you?"

"No! My god! Calm down, would you? We checked in this afternoon, had a meal in the bar..."

"They was trying real hard to get plastered, at least she was." John muttered.

"We uh, well we came to our room, and well, after a shower, she dryed her hair and we were getting ready to go out. She was sitting on the bed, craning her neck to see in the wall mirror, when she yelled, and fell over backwards between the bed and the wall. I guess she just burned herself with the curling iron then fell off the bed."

"Now, if you're telling me a story," Joe went on, "I've a nice jail just up the road for the likes of you."

"Calm down, Joe." I spoke up. "The injuries are consistent with what Mr. Trent has said." I started applying some topical antiseptic to the burn on her scalp. It was three centimeters long and roughly half that wide. "Mr. Trent, this is PC, you might say, policeman, Joe Penhale. Joe this is Steve Trent, just in from the States."

Joe whipped out a pad and started taking notes. "Right. Now then – how long have you and your wife been married? Ever had any quarrels that came to blows, say?"

"No. We're not married."

John, Joe, and I all looked at the rumpled sheets on the bed, suitcases, the gold band on Steve's left hand, the gaudy diamond rings on her left hand as well.

"Right," was all PC Penhale could say.

I leapt into the fray. "Um, Mr. Trent. I suggest that you and Brenda stay off the wine for while, apply ice to the bump, she'll likely need something for a headache too, and I've applied a topical antiseptic ointment to the scalp burn. If she has any further problems with it, please see me. My surgery is just up the hill." I dropped a business card on the desk. "This is my number. Call if you have any concerns."

"Steve? Steve? Get these people out of our room!" Brenda was waking. "Oh God my head! Get me an aspirin, quick!"

Steve jumped.

Penhale stood firm, obviously ready for more answers to his questions, whether they were pertinent or not.

John Nance followed me down the hallway and gave me a knowing look. "Those two… takes all kinds, don't it doc?"

"Yes," was all I could say.


	5. Chapter 5

Skin

The young surfer was a reddish colour, like that of a well steamed lobster. He winced as I touched his shoulder. The skin was firm, reddish, blanched as I touched it, and was warm to the touch.

"Ow! God, doc, watch it."

"Just, oh… sorry. Just how long were you out in the sun yesterday?"

"I don't know. Four or five hours, maybe?"

"With the wind yesterday, I'd have thought you'd be surfing all afternoon?" Polzeath, south of town, was a popular surfing beach. In fact I treated two surfers Saturday for sprains from the rough surf.

"Nah, I was taking it easy. Just lay out in the sun. Today as well."

It was getting late and the early summer sun was sliding down the sky. Mick Plout was his name and he worked as a builder when he could get the work. "Been getting any work these days?"

"A bit, doc, but you know, there's not many houses goin' up. Mostly surfin' and goin' about."

I often see his truck, a rather beat up Ford, heading from town with surfboard and ladder in back, ready for what came. "Ah, yes. Well my Aunt Joan, you know Joan North? Mentioned she might have something…"

"Thanks, doc! I'll go out to her farm later on."

"Now about your skin. This is obviously a bad sunburn. I recommend plenty of fluids, stay out of the sun, and at least wear a shirt – long sleeves – a hat too. The ultraviolet won't spare a fair skin like yours."

"Well, doc, I was having a nice rest and then this." He held out a muscled arm. "Tryin' to make it look better."

"Well, if I have to carve away at it for melanoma or basal cell carcinoma, you'll wish you hadn't!"

I started writing on his chart. "Any number of emollients, skin creams, at the pharmacy will help this. And use a high quality sun-blocker when you're outside."

"Well, thanks doc. I'll be callin' on your Miss Joan today."

Mick rose and towered over the desk.

"She's not my Joan, although she just happens to be my aunt."

He laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing doc. Nothing."

For some reason I am to be the point of fun today. To his back I added one more comment. "And, Mick, stay off the beer until this burn heals."

"No beer?" was his reply. "God, doc, you're a hard man!"

"Next patient!" I shouted.

Pauline sent in the next and it was PC Penhale. He was carrying a paper bag, which he hid behind his back as he sat.

"Joe, what is your complaint?"

"Well, doctor - I really need you to keep this quiet, right?"

"PC Penhale," if he could be formal so could I, "all my patient visits are confidential."

He looked furtively about the green painted walls. "If you say so."

"Now, what seems to be your problem today?" In this light his face had a deeper shade to that odd colour I'd seen at the pub.

"Well, doctor, I wouldn't want any of the local toughs to know I was seeing you. They might get the idea I'm not capable and would try something. Terrorize the town…"

I sighed. Joe saw toughs and hoods behind every rock wall and house. "Joe, just tell me what is the problem?"

He held out his left arm and rolled up his sleeve. "This. It itches."

The arm was a strange orange colour, almost the colour of weak tea, but it was blotchy as well. "Examination table! And take off your shirt."

He stripped off shirt and vest and sat on the paper cover. His arms looked similar, chest a deeper colour along with his neck. His face was darker than his back, though. What ever it was it was streaked across his back, lighter between his shoulder blades.

"Huh. Been doing what?"

"Nothing, doctor."

"Drop your trousers."

"But doc it's my arm."

"Strip off. I want o see you in your underwear."

Joe stood, gingerly unbelted his service belt, loaded with various bits of the PC trade and it thunked as it fell, along with his trousers.

PC Penhale stood there in nearly all his glory. His bandy legs were bone white. "I take it this isn't normal. The color?"

"No doc. I mean…"

I pulled at his waistband, seeing the strange orange stain stop at his waist. "What have you been doing?"

"Doctor, it's a little personal." He started to rub his arms and scratch his chest.

"Joe, there is nothing too personal in my surgery, now out with it!"

He looked around embarrassed, looked at the closed door, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "Well, doctor, you know that I been seeing this girl up at the café?"

"No, I didn't. Spare me the details."

"Deirdre said, that's her name, Deirdre Scanlon, that she liked tanned, really fit men."

Joe Penhale seemed fit enough but he was no muscle man. "Go on. What has this to do with that?"

"Doctor Martin, there's no way I can get a tan."

"Why not?"

"Well I burn something fierce and I'm always ready to go – on duty – I can't be laying about on a sunny beach somewhere can I? What if those teen hoods were to…"

"Joe – get to the point!"

"I been using this." He held the paper bag out to me.

Inside was an aerosol can labeled in bright colours. The label read 'Arti-Tan.'

"This?" I held it up for him to see.

"Yes."

"You've been spraying this on your skin?"

"Right doctor. But I had trouble getting my back."

"You didn't do your legs."

"No."

"Promotes a natural enhancement to your natural skin tone. Provides a salon style no-sun tan." I read from the label. "Joe!"

"Yes, doctor?"

"Watch this!" I threw the can into the bin.

"Doc! That cost me seven quid!"

"Joe – those things are temporary! Just like a real tan. It will disappear in a few days – no more than a week."

"But it itches!"

"You can use an inexpensive hand cream or body lotion – Mrs. Tishel could help you select one. Your skin is irritated, mostly by the scratching you seem to be doing."

"So I did this to myself?"

"Yes."

"And it won't last."

"No." I started to write up his chart.

"Well that's a relief!" He smiled as he said this. "I thought I was…"

"You can put your clothes on now."

"Thanks, doctor. I'm grateful."

"It's my job, Joe."

"Well thanks anyway."

"You're… welcome. Is there anything else?"

Joe was flinging his clothes back on. "You've been a great help, doctor."

"I'm here to help."

Joe stood there as he tucked in his uniform shirt and settled the policeman's equipment belt back into place. "Just one more thing."

I sighed. There was always one more thing. "Yes, what's that?"

"What about Deirdre? She'll think I still look like a codfish!"

I sighed. "Yes, she … she might…"

"Ok, doc." He plastered a smile on his face. "Bye then! Stay safe doctor! Wear your seat belt!"

Gratefully he left with no more safety epithets. "Pauline? Who's next?" I walked into an empty waiting room.

"Nobody, doc. They're all gone. Can I go too? Almost quitting time." Pauline was standing in the doorway, purse on her arm, the satchel she dragged in this morning on the other.

"Schedule all ready for tomorrow and you sent those samples off to the lab?"

"Yeah, doc. I did." She sounded weary. "Now can I go?" She looked at her watch. "I've got to go up to the um…"

"Go."

"Bye doc!" she called on the way.

As she breezed past me I smelt a trace of stale sweat and musty clothing. "That's Doctor Ellingham!" I said aloud to the front door as it closed behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

Mobility

The next morning Pauline arrived even later than before. It was nearly 9 AM when she hobbled in the surgery. The first patient had already been seen, I'd fielded three calls myself and I was furious.

"Sorry doc," she gasped out as she dumped her purse and the odious satchel on the desk. The satchel flew across the surface and almost caused the computer monitor to fall.

I grabbed it before it went. "Pauline! Be careful. Now what or why is causing you to be late again? Come on – give me no lame excuse."

"Oh, well at the leisure center they have this fitness class - thing and I've been going to it."

"You did this yesterday too."

"Yeah, I did doc." She pushed a strand of damp hair from her face. "And I was even later today because…"

"Why? Come on!"

She sighed greatly. "Well yesterday I got all sweaty and stuff and I didn't shower afterward and by around lunch time I could tell, and I think the patients could too, smell it… me, I mean."

I leaned over the desk. "That was what I smelled! And this satchel was part of it." I poked the offending thing, which smelled much as it did before, only ranker.

"Oh, yeah my shorts and a shirt, and trainers are in there, oh and a little towel that I used to wipe off the sweat. So I thought I'm never doing that again, but the class ran late, but I showered anyway. See?" She held up am arm and pushed her armpit towards me.

I withdrew my face as fast as possible. "I understand your interest in getting better fit, but I can't have you barging in here late every morning."

"Sorry doc, but what can I do?"

My turn to sigh. "I think you might be able to find a class at a different time."

"Oh, hadn't though about that," she said.

"Well, let's look, shall we?" I walked around her, turned on the computer and as it started said, "Why are you doing this now?"

"Well, you know I been seein' Al Large a bit…" she winced and she stood on one foot.

"Yes. How can I ignore him, considering he's around here a couple times a week?" I started moving the computer mouse clicking on icons. "Problem?"

She kept shifting her weight. "No. But now you know since the restaurant is going strong he's not up here that often?"

I gritted my teeth. "Pauline, just don't let your relations with Al Large, or lack thereof, interfere with your job."

"Ok, ok." She looked sullen. "It's none of your business anyway…"

"Ah, yes, here," I point to the screen. "Right here, Pauline, this is the class? Yes? Well there are evening classes too."

"Oh. Didn't know that."

I could only glare at Pauline as the door opened. A patient - Mr. Worden came in.

The old man strode in. "Morning doc; morning Pauline."

I gave Pauline a harsh look. "Fix your schedule, will you? Or I will." I whispered at her. "Yes. Morning, please go through," I said to my patient.

"Now what's the complaint, Mr. Worden." He was an old man, one of the older ones in town, but he still got about. His face had the ancient lines of many coast dwellers, but his records showed him to be only aged 70.

"Well doc, the missus was telling me I should get some exercise."

I nodded. "Always good."

"So I started taking walks – through town, out on the moor, along the cliff trails."

"Very good. So what's the problem?"

"Well, the missus was complimenting me how much happier I seemed, and I lost weight too."

"All good. Exercise releases endorphins, natural brain chemicals, which make us feel better."

"Ok. But…" Mr. Worden's eyes clouded.

"What's wrong with that? Have you hurt yourself?"

"No, no injury; I don't think so."

I hate these long drawn out interviews. Like pulling teeth.

He looked at the floor. "I get to thinking, that maybe I'm happier when I'm not home."

Hm."In what way?"

The man shook his head, wispy grey hair flinging about. "Well, you know how my Josie, the missus, she don't get out much with her arthritis, but she does get to market and church…"

"And?"

"When I'm out on the cliff walk looking at the ocean, and the sun's shining bright like today, I feel like I can walk all day. The sky, the sun, it's all so… well," he wiped his eyes. "So pretty. Now Josie seems happy enough with her knitting and such, and seein' her friends in town – why there's not a Sunday she don't miss services."

His lip quivered. "But the beauty I seen out there, why just this morning, I saw some dolphins frolickin' and seagulls and other birds was swooping around…" He paused and wiped his face with a lined hand. "And the birds was a flyin' like the fish in the sea."

I handed him a tissue.

Mr. Worden blew his nose loudly. "And Josie, well, she don't get to see it. She could no more walk a hundred feet at a time than a dog could fly."

"But you tell her about it. All the things you see?"

"Aye, but it's not the same."

I looked at the old man. "What did you do when you were working, Mr. Worden."

"Why I worked at a print shop down in Waybridge. You know – flyers, notices, and such."

"Ever done any photography?"

He looked up. "No, not really, had a little box camera when I was young."

"Just a minute." I left surgery and marched through the waiting room to the stares of Pauline and two patients. I trotted upstairs and rummaged around in the dresser. Clutching a small box I returned to surgery. Mr. Worden had worked his way through a few more tissues and they littered his lap. I handed him the box. "I think you should have this."

"What is it?"

"A camera. It's an old digital camera I bought ten years back. Here, let me show you how it works." From the box I pulled the camera and showed him the range finder, the power switch and the basic controls. "There's a little memory card here," I showed him the access as I stood over him, "and you can take up to 200 photographs or so. So you can take pictures, make prints and take them to your wife."

"Doc, I couldn't take it. No!"

"I want you to have it. I never use it. And if you haven't a computer at home, oh you don't, then you bring it here and we can print out the photos for you, or you can go to the gift shops in town, I believe they will print pictures from the card for a few…"

Mr. Worden sprang up and hugged me. "Thank you, oh this is brilliant! You're the best doctor this old town ever had!"

I pried his arms from around me. "A simple thank you is enough. Just doing my job."

"Well then thank you!"

He left and through the door I yelled out, "Next patient!"

But Pauline slunk in. "Doc?" She stood in the doorway. At least she didn't have to duck her head under the lintel, like I did.

"Yes?"

"Wasn't that your camera box Mr. Worden was carrying? I know it's yours 'cause I borrowed it for that poster Gwen and I made for the town hall. We took all those pictures of the cliffs last year."

"Yes, what of it? I gave it to him."

"You… gave… it … to him?"

"Yes. Medical necessity. Please send in the next patient."

She went out slowly shaking her head.


	7. Chapter 7

Finger

Later that morning I was visited by Judy Ellis and a friend. The boy sat in the chair in front of the desk. Pimply, greasy hair, tattoo on his bare bicep. It looked like a sun symbol, done in blue. He tried to look unconcerned but he held his right hand curled into itself, left over the top. But there was sweat on his brow.

Judy spoke. "This is my friend Davey. He lives across the street from me and mum."

I looked at the boy with some distaste. I don't know if it was his snarl as I looked at him, the ripped denims, dirty toes in worn sandals, or the tattoo that put me off the most. "Your name?

The boy started. "Dave, uh David Faull."

I looked at his record card. "And David, you are nineteen years old?"

"Yeah."

"What's the problem?"

Judy reached over to the boy and tried to take his right hand. He shrugged her off and he winced. "He just said he needed to see you," she said.

"Right. Let me see that hand."

The kid held out his right hand. Judy screamed as she saw the bent finger. The index finger joints were splayed at odd angles – the knuckles displaced from normal anatomy.

Nice. "Ah, yes. Painful?"

The boy tried to keep his voice low. "What you think, doc? Hurts like…"

"I know. I'm surprised that you're not in great pain."

The kid shrugged. "Might hurt a little bit."

Judy started to hyperventilate. "My God, Davey what happened? Oh you poor thing."

The boy fixed her with a tough guy stare. "I was skateboarding."

I extended the hand and he let me touch it. "Your hand is quite cold. Why is that?"

"Oh, I got some ice from the market."

"Yes. And this happened, when?"

"About an hour ago."

"Hm. Possibly broke it or at least displaced…"

"I broke my ankle last year; you remember?"

"Oh. The bike thing. I think you were doing tricks then, right?"

Judy stood and held Davey's shoulders. He tried to seem uninterested but the act was starting to fail. His lip started to tremble. "Yeah, today too."

Judy jumped in. "What sort of trick? You wasn't trying to jump that barrel again?"

"Maybe."

I pulled over my cart laden with tools and bandages. "Let's just see if we can put that right… Come to the examination table."

His face turned white. "Here? Doc you're joking? Right?"

"No. I'll give you an injection for the pain, and I can set that right here. A splint and tape, you'll be fit."

"Well, Why not hospital?"

"Because it's a long drive. Come on, boy!"

The kid came to table, Judy shepherding him along. He sat and I went to work.

I cleaned the back of his hand, injected a local and as the hand numbed looked over at Judy. Clearly she was enamored of this boy. He seemed not to know.

Finally I could apply traction and realign the joints. The finger ended up swollen but bendable. "Can you bend it?"

The digit flexed. "Look's ok, doc."

"Any other injuries? Skinned knee, elbow, etc?"

"No. That's it."

I splinted the hand and finger. "You'll need a pain killer and I'll write a scrip for you." I put away the cart and wrote out what he needed. "Now listen, David. No skateboarding or bicycle tricks! Keep this iced every few hours for the next day or so. And I don't want you back in next with a depressed skull fracture. That would mean hospital."

Judy beamed. "Doc, I knew you was the best. Fixed Davey and me too!"

The boy gave her some needed attention. "You were here? When was that?"

She spoke "Nothing. I was apologizing to doc for some teasing me and the girls did once."

Ah, that was it then. Knew I saw her somewhere around. "If you have any problems, please see me or call."

"Thanks, doc," said the boy.

Judy went out hanging on his good arm, and she gave me a big smile on the way out. She also pulled her hair back from her left ear and mouthed the words. "Getting better." I don't think the boy saw her.

I put away the cart. "Pauline, next patient!"

Pauline limped in. "They're all gone doc. You've nothing until 2:30."

I stared at her. "Pauline, are you all right? You're moving oddly."

"I'm ok doc. Must be a strain or something. Exercises, you know? Can I go to lunch?"

"Yes. But you'll be back."

"Yeah, I'll be here." She wandered out and I heard the front door close. She didn't waste time, at least not her own.


	8. Chapter 8

Meeting

I went to the post office, needing stamps. The school children were running around the school yard next door. Two teachers monitored the mayhem. I asked myself how many infectious diseases are passed on by children – all those coughs and runny noses. I saw too many of their schoolmates and families in surgery.

I was looking the horde over when Louisa Glasson, the head teacher, walked out the door and called to one of the teachers.

Her voice rang out. "Alice? You've got a call!" She walked briskly towards the gate across the school grounds. "I'll watch them. The phone's in the office."

"Thanks, Louisa," said the woman and she trotted off. "Won't be a moment!"

Louisa waved as she approached me. "Martin. I didn't think I'd see you now."

I showed her the parcel. "Stamps. No patients."

"Oh." She brushed hair from her face as the wind blew it. "Well. Nice all the same."

"Yes." I started to say, "Lou…"

A thrown ball came our way, but Louisa batted it away. "Children! Be careful."

A chorus of three little voices saying, "Sorry miss," floated to us.

"No harm done." She smiled at me. "Well, Martin. I heard you saw to an American couple yesterday."

"Yes. Nothing bad."

"Over at the Lamb, wasn't it?" She looked at me, her face lit by the sun.

"Yes. Just an accident."

"Well, Martin, I was wondering…"

I saw an adult approach. "Look's like Alice is returning."

"Louisa, I'm back if you want to go back inside," the woman called.

"Right." She turned to me again. "Martin, I'm glad we had this little chat."

"Yes. I… it was..."

"I thought so too." She started to leave, giving a backwards glance. "Maybe we can meet at the Lamb, sometime."

"Yes, I'd…"

Another ball flew in the air and smacked Louisa in the arm. "All right, that's it!" she shouted. "Back inside you three."

Louisa walked briskly to the school propelling the ball throwers ahead of her. I turned to go, just as she looked back at me. I saw her smile.

Walking to the harbor I passed Mrs. Tallack.

She waved to me. "Hello, doctor. Willie gets home tomorrow. And I've been thinking what you said."

"Right. Good luck."

"I'm sure everything will be alright in the end!" She tottered off on seven centimeter heels; horrible for her feet.

I passed the harbor fish market and bought my dinner. I saw Steve Trent, the American, sitting on a bench, as Brenda strode quickly away from him.

"Oh, Doctor Ellingham?" he called and waved.

"Hello, Mr. Trent."

"Have you had lunch? No? Care to join me?"

"But what about Brenda?"

He dug at the ground with a shoe. "I don't think she wants to see me for a while."

"And I have this," I held up the parcel. "Fish. Best to get it on ice."

"Well, I wanted to talk, if I could."

"Best come with me." We walked to the surgery not saying anything. I unlocked the front door. "Let me put this in the refrigerator. Come through to the kitchen."

"Sure." He looked around as we went in. "Nice little place. And your office is right here too."

I sneered. "Surgery."

"Ok. Call it what you like."

"Take a seat. You don't mind if I fix something?"

"Go ahead."

I put some soup on to heat, set the table - bowls, plate with bread, and spoon. I filled two water glasses from the tap and stirred tomato bisque on the cooker.

"So doctor, you're not from here, originally?"

"London. This is my second summer."

Steve looked round the kitchen. "Not quite London."

I didn't answer.

He laughed. "Well, if it's alright with you… don't let me needle you."

"I won't. Now, Mr. Trent why did you want to speak to me? Is there a medical problem – with you or with Brenda?"

"I'm not sure," he said and drew rings on the table.

"Yes."

"Listen I guess you and the cop figured out that what's going on. Brenda and I work together. I'm her producer."

"Producer?"

"Yes, didn't you recognize her? Maybe you don't get her TV show over here. She's Brenda Stafford – of Stafford on Travel – doesn't ring a bell?"

I shook my head.

"We came over for a scouting trip along the Cornwall coast. The film crew will be here in two weeks and we're just here for a couple days. Going south on Thursday."

"I see."

"No you don't. I'm married and so is Brenda, just to other people. This is the first time, we uh…"

"Mr. Trent, I do not care what you do or not do in your hotel room or whom with." I took the soup from the cooker. Hot enough. "Soup?"

"Thanks." He watched me fill the bowls. "It's like this; I know that Brenda can at times…"

"Treat people badly? I did notice."

"But somehow that runs off me like water off a duck. Look doc, she can shout at me all she wants – none of that other stuff – but it does make me mad when she treats everyone else like dirt!"

"What do you plan?"

"God. I don't know. It's just when we're together, I mean, at least she pays attention to me. I don't get that at home. My wife is an attorney, we have no kids, and she's busy all the time."

I spooned soup into my mouth as he rattled on. After a few minutes of more detail than I needed to hear he stopped. I wiped my mouth. "So you are telling me, a nearly total stranger whom you have met twice, that you are unhappy in your marriage, yet strangely happy with a woman who mostly verbally abuses you, but when so doing she pays attention to you."

"Yes, I guess you're right."

"How does it feel?" I stared at his face. "Do you get some perverse enjoyment from this relationship? Is this how you planned to live your life?"

"I don't know."

"Well I suggest, Mr. Trent, that you determine what direction you are going and with whom. Before it is too late."

"Oh my God." He looked at me as he'd been hit in the face. "Wow. Doctor that's it!"

"Well, I hope that you are happy in your life, for you are likely digging yourself a rather large and deep hole. But don't let me influence you."

"But I'm in love with her. The first time I saw her I was love struck."

"Love makes us do funny things."

Steve left without eating.


	9. Chapter 9

Fish

Pauline was in a better mood Wednesday morning, although she was still limping around, and after a few patients (rash, ear ache, stubbed toe with torn toenail, superficial burn, well baby checkup, and a deep splinter) we worked on sorting paper records from Doctor Sim. If the old doctor wasn't dead I'd have put him up on charges.

The ancient records, even those that survived the flood caused by Bert and Al, Portwenn's own two-man plumbing wrecking crew, were in terrible shape. They'd been shoved under the stair as out of date. Pauline and I were trying to sort them into a semblance of order. It was a grab bag exercise.

Pauline held up a card and read the name. "Mr. and Mrs. Carl Nodden?" said my secretary as she pulled a card at random from a musty old box.

"Moved." I answered. I was sitting at the computer cross-indexing my computer records with the older paper ones. It was needed as people died, moved, married or disappeared.

"Queenie Kestle?"

"Married – now Queenie Dower. Married Thomas Dower."

"Oh, yeah, that was the nicest wedding." She smiled at the thought. "And their baby came only six months later."

I looked at Pauline with my doctor's stare. "Amazing that the child at birth was twenty inches long and weighed nine pounds."

"Well, doc, we Cornish are hardy."

I rolled my eyes. "Next."

"Katie Croker."

"Moved."

"Rolley Grylls," she read from the next card.

"Dead."

"Dead? How?

"Yes. Run over by his neighbor's tractor. Accident."

She smiled. "Oh, yeah I forgot. And there was no truth to the idea that Rolley was seein' his neighbor's wife."

"Pauline, the late Mr. Grylls was 86 years old!"

"Well, I told you we Cornish are hardy."

I was saved by further comments when the phone rang. I answered it. "Ellingham. What? You're where Joe?"

"Doctor. I'm up on the south moor road, past the Riley place. I got the call about a vehicle blocking the road. I arrive to find Mick Plout out cold over the steering wheel. Something's not right with him."

"Been drinking has he?"

"Maybe a bit, but there's something else. Better hurry."

I trotted to the surgery, took up my case and dashed. "Emergency, Pauline, up on the moor."

PC Joe Penhale might be too gung ho at times, but he knew when to call for medical help. It took ten minutes for me to get there, through the narrow streets of Portwenn, up the hill, south from town, take the turn off then wind up the Lexus and cruise through the narrow lanes, until the land flattened and the open moor was before me. Then I get some real speed.

I could see Penhale's patrol vehicle flashing lights ablaze far ahead. My mobile rang.

"Doc!" It was Pauline. "Joe just called again! Said you'd better hurry!"

"Right. Call 999."

"I've done so! Good luck."

She rang off.

The patrol rover was parked near a black Ford – it was Mick Plout's truck and I could see his surfboard poking out of the back. No, make that two surfboards.

Joe was kneeling over Mick who was lying on the road behind the truck. A young ginger haired woman knelt there as well. The woman was crying and blubbering.

I knelt down next to Joe.

"Thank God you're here doctor! I don't understand this at all," he said.

Mick was wearing bathing costume and shirt. He was bight red, flushed, he moaned slightly thru clenched teeth and his eyes alternated from wide and staring to fluttering. Pulse was tachycardic – too fast. His breathing was labored with a slight whistle. For a large man, over six foot, he was a sorry looking thing lying in the road.

I turned to the keening woman. "Shut it! I need details. What's Mick been up too?"

She was in bathing dress as well. Long red hair fell over her face as she cried a river from green eyes.

"Doc this is Deirdre Scanlon," interrupted Joe. "They were…"

"We was surfing," said the woman through her sobs. "Mick's been teaching me. Just having fun, you know? Then he gave out a yell and fell off his board."

"Did he hit his head?"

"No, no. Said it felt like he got stung with something." She wiped her freckled face.

I leaned into Mick's face. "Mick! It's Doctor Ellingham. Mick?" he responded with a grunt. I turned back to the woman. "Did he vomit?"

The women nodded. "Not at first. That came later when he was driving. I didn't want him to and when he threw up out the window, he said he had a stomach ache. Then he started complaining about seeing shooting stars and muttered about weird stuff. I thought he'd gone Bodmin!" She sobbed some more.

Mick twitched on the tarmac in front of me. Tears were flowing freely along with nasal discharge down his face and he vomited on my shoe. He moaned some more. I wrapped my blood pressure cuff on to his arm. "Did he say anything else?" His pulse was racing.

The woman gulped and cried more but got out a few words. "Not really. But he said his foot itched something fierce."

I looked at his feet. The left was normal in appearance, at least no different from Monday, still red from sunburn. But the right foot showed purplish-red welts up to the ankle where they ended in a straight line. Ah. "Don't touch his foot, whatever you do. He was wearing a wetsuit, right?"

Deirdre answered. "Yes. Way too cold to go in the water, otherwise. We both were wearing them."

I hadn't seen this before but I've read about it. "It's a jellyfish! Look at his foot! You can see where the tentacles stung him; right up to the ankle. The wetsuit protected the rest of him."

Joe interrupted my diagnosis. "Doc, he's starting to go!"

His breathing was more labored – more wheezing. "Mick! Mick! Have you been stung before?" No answer, but he twitched a little more. "It's anaphylactic shock!"

"What's that doc?" Deirdre was starting to panic. "My God, Mick, don't die! You can't not with…"

"His body is reacting to the jellyfish sting. It's not this sting that's doing it!" I pulled a syringe from my case and a small vial, and sucked fluid into the syringe. "He's been stung before and his body must be releasing massive amounts of histamine in reaction to the sting. His body is allergic to the jellyfish venom – massively so!" The injection went in, while Deirdre cried more.

Joe reached over to her. "It's alright, Deirdre, Doctor Martin is setting him right. See!"

In the next few minutes Mick started to ease. Breathing was less labored, heart rate lower, but he still twitched a bit.

By the time the ambulance found us Mick was rather in good shape, if a bit groggy. They loaded him through the double doors.

"Can I go with him?" asked Deirdre. "I'm his fiancée – well at least I'm pregnant with his, uh, our baby." She clambered in as the medic assisted her and the doors closed leaving Penhale and me to clean up the mess.

Joe looked wistfully at the departing vehicle. He sighed and then said, "Well, doc. I'd better shift this truck off the road. Don't want to be impeding traffic."

I looked up the open road with not a car in sight.

"Yes, you'd better move Mick's truck."

He gave me a firm look. "Right."

As I packed up my case I heard Joe mutter.

"Ah," he said slowly. "I never should have tried to date a woman who said I was as white as a codfish's belly."


	10. Chapter 10

Ankle

I returned to surgery and tried to plow through the stacked up patients. Pauline had shifted some to other days, but with the call out to tend to Mick Plout it was still full. By five o'clock the usual crowd was gone.

"Remember, Miss Deane, take all the medicine as indicated. If they disagree with your stomach, take them after eating. Next patient, Pauline!"

Miss Deane left with her prescription and another reminder to stop eating nuts and beans – both of which aggravated her diverticular colon. Some of my patients would follow their own form of medicine – which means none.

"That's it doc! Just one more!"

"Well, don't dawdle, girl. Send them in."

I put Miss Deane's record card into the file packet and went to wash my hands. The door opened and I said, "Be with you in a minute."

"Alright," said Pauline as she came into the surgery.

"Pauline!" I said indignantly, "I asked you to send in the next patient, why have…"

"Doc. They're here, uh, I mean I'm here."

"You?"

She looked embarrassed. "Yeah, it's me doc."

"Alright, what is your complaint? Sit."

She sat and looked around the room. "Not much to look at, is it? Could use a lick of paint…"

"Pauline! Complaint?"

"Well, you yell a lot, you're rude and mean…"

"No! About your health?"

"…and you could be a lot nicer to people, especially me."

I sat and stared at her.

She finished with a phrase that sounded like, "And don't think Miss Glasson will wait forever for you to make a move either."

"What was that last bit?"

"Nothing."

"Pauline! What is WRONG WITH YOU?"

"Oh," she began quietly. "Well, I told you about the exercise class, right?"

"Go on."

"Ok. Well, I think I must have twisted my ankle or foot or something the other day and it hurts to walk on it."

"Exam table," I snapped.

She stood and ambled to the table. "Do you treat everyone this way?"

"Yes, I am ecumenical. Usually."

"Doc we need to work on your people skills."

"Humph. Table." I pointed.

She sat and lifted her left foot. "This one."

"Shoe?"

She peeled off the ankle straps and took off the shoe.

"Are these the shoes you wear every day?"

She brightened. "Oh, do you like them?"

"No." I took her foot and squeezed the ankle. She winced as I rotated the joint.

"Gawd, doc! That hurts."

"It's swollen."

"I know that, doc! That's all I get? It's swollen? Even I knew that."

I clenched my teeth and tried to speak. "Pauline…"

"Ok. I was on the exercise bike after class was over and me and Gwen sort of got into a race on the exercise bikes."

"You were racing? Really smart."

"But Al and his mates came in to lift weights and they started to sort of root us on, you know, and we kept dialing up the resistance, and around level eight I felt this sharp pain."

"You have a slight ankle sprain. Elevate it, apply ice, wear supportive shoes, not these things, and take an analgesic if necessary. An elastic wrap may also be useful for support."

Pauline crossed her arms in anger. "That's it? I could have figured that out for myself."

"That's it." I looked down at my wonderful secretary. "All there is."

"No wonder people don't like you."

"Pauline I do not care if they like me. They have medical complaints, I treat them. That's all. Now put your shoe back on."

She gave me a dirty look. "Doc. I got news for… oh never mind. You got an elastic wrap I could have?"

I pulled open a drawer, pulled out a rolled strip and rapidly bound her ankle. "There. All better. Do you want me to kiss it?"

"No." She pulled on her shoe, if you called them shoes. "But there might be something else you could kiss…" she whispered.

"What?" I bellowed.

"Nothing, doc."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Are you the last patient?"

"Suppose so."

"Something's missing." I tapped my desk.

"What have I forgotten now, oh mighty Portwenn GP?" she intoned in a deep voice.

"Your chart. I need to record this office visit."

"Doc, you are hopeless." Pauline went out shaking her head. She came back with her chart in a moment.

I penned the note and handed it back.

She stood by the corner of my desk. "Doc, uhm, what I said about, well... people... not liking you…"

"Out." I managed to blurt.

"I'm sorry." She looked down at the floor then up again. "I mean, people do like you, but sometimes, it's just that you're sort of gruff. Maybe you don't mean it, but you are."

I said nothing.

She left surgery, puttered around a bit then came back to the door. "Thanks for fixing my ankle, doc."

"It's my job, Pauline."

"Are you sure doc? Sometimes I think that you don't have anything else, but this job." She left the doorway and I heard her call "Goodnight, doc," as the door closed.


	11. Chapter 11

Confidence

Pauline was right mostly. No that's not true. Pauline was right partially. I _am_ rude and judgmental, and _also_ brash and brilliant. I am also lonely.

The clock's innards I pulled again from the box and began to tease the various pieces into working order. Or at least try. After a few minutes I held the tiny screw driver to my eyes. It was sharp, precise and solid. It was the perfect tool for removing tiny screws from clockworks. It was similar in many respects to a surgical scalpel. Both of steel, the tips were ground and hardened, and both fit the hand perfectly for the appointed task. They were also cold and hard.

I put down the tool, being careful not to scatter the tiny bronze and steel pieces of the clock on my kitchen table. I don't know how long I sat there, the sun's light beginning to slide down the sky.

The pieces were placed back in the box, the tools secured in the tiny case, the mostly intact innards returned to the wooden clock case.

The front door slammed behind me and I locked it. Joe the grey mangy mutt who has an attachment to me and the surgery pokes his head from the bushes. "Not you! Get away!" He stands there unafraid, quite the opposite of me. I turn and walk down the hill into town.

The Lamb Pub is crowded and noisy. The weekend crowd arrived early this week. With the return of warm summer weather, people were starting to venture to the coast, after a long winter and cold spring of huddling indoors. As I went inside the stucco and timber building, the warm air of too many bodies and loud talking was almost overwhelming.

But I thought of that damn dog. No matter how many times I tried to run him away, deposit him at Aunty Joan's farm, or in some remote spot on the moor, he always comes back. Every time. Someone named him Joe, but it should be Persistence.

At the bar I got the barmaid's attention.

She came over and said, "Oh, Doc Martin! I was just talking about you this afternoon!"

"What about?"

"Well, you know my Judy, Judy Ellis? I'm very glad that she could come to you and get that ear thing taken care of. Judy stayed up late last night and told about how you sorted out her ear and poor Davey's bent finger."

"Just doing… well, thank you. Glad I could help both of them."

"Like I said the other day to Jim Nance, we sure got lucky when we got you! Now, what are you having?"

"Mineral water."

"Oh, I heard you don't drink. Good for you, Maybe you can make up for all the sots in this part of the country." She laughed. "Here, on the house." She put a tall glass of water on the shiny bar.

"Thank you." I lifted the glass and took a table by the window, near the door; not too far back in the crush at the back of the room, but I sat so I could see into the room. There was Jim Nance trying to converse with a German couple, an obvious group from the north downing whiskey like no tomorrow, and Mrs. Ellis was scurrying back and forth.

Portwenn is strangely timeless. Mobiles, cars, TV, computers had all invaded. But the residents from old Mr. Giles in the corner to the young local people at the bar had a certain feel that you would not find in the heart of London. There was hustle and bustle here, but it was not the crush to the Tube or ferry, or screaming ranks of computers tied to the world's markets.

The sun came up and it went down. The tides rose and fell. The boats went to fish and the people lived. Day after day, night after night. I'd treated some of them, a lot of them, and in spite of myself…

"Why Doctor Martin, I didn't see you there!" Steve Trent was looked down at me.

"Hello, Mr. Trent."

He looked around. "By yourself?"

"Yes, at the moment, but I…"

"Well, can I sit for just a moment?"

I pointed to the chair opposite.

He pulled it out, reversed it and swung his leg over it as only the casual Americans can, or would. "Listen," he whispered over the background noise, "I was thinking about our talk yesterday."

"Yes, what of it?"

"Well, I thought about what you said. I decided that I didn't like my life the way it is. I hate it. I hate not being appreciated by Brenda for all the help I give her on her travel show, I hate the way my marriage has gone downhill, and I also hate the fact that I was unfaithful to my wife – to Debbie, her name is Debbie." 

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you are the one person I can talk to here so far from home. And I have decided…" he paused and wiped his eyes. They looked moist. "Have decided to leave. Leave the show and leave Brenda."

I sipped my water. "Then what?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning – going home. I called Debbie last night, caught her between meetings and we talked. Well, that is I talked. I talked a lot. And I told her that I wanted to start over."

"Just like that?" I snapped my fingers.

"Yes, like that." He slapped the table. "You know what? She said yes, just like that."

"And Brenda?"

Steve smiled with a row of perfect white teeth. "I told you I was quitting the show and her. She exploded and left this morning."

"What about your job?"

"I've got an awful lot of vacation time banked, they owe me that, and it so happens that there is another production company ready to take me on – they've been sniffing around for months."

I looked at Steve smiling at me. He had quit his job, made his ex-lover and ex-boss quite cross, and was going home to an uncertain marriage and life. What was he so happy about? I asked him, "And you are happy?"

"God yes! Like a weight came off my shoulders. Thanks doc!" He shook my hand. "If it wasn't for your words – they cut like a scalpel – right to the quick. Just what I needed." He stood. "All the best Doctor Martin Ellingham."

He walked through the crowd to the stairs to pack I presume. From the set of his shoulders, the swing of his arms and legs, he was the most confident man in the room. I wished that I felt like him.

I was thinking about leaving when Mrs. Tallack came in, dragging her husband. The poor man looked awkward with his wife's new appearance. She was dressed to the nines, rather flouncy in bright colors, low neck-line of course, showing her improvements.

You could hear the snapping of neck vertebra as she breezed past. Both genders noticed her, and whether they approved or condemned, it was not clear to me. Paul Tallack, a rather wide and short person, had thinning hair, thick fingers and thick glasses and he looked around nervously as his wife put her, and him, on display.

For both their sakes, I hope that things worked out. I went to the bar and selected a meal. Broiled cod (I thought of PC Penhale), potatoes and sprouts. In a few minutes, as the pub continued to fill, it became quite warm indoors. So when the meal came, I shoveled it down, finished my water, paid the bill and left.

Mr. Tallack clearly had no confidence and Steve Trent had plenty. I was not certain that I fit anywhere in that spectrum, at least with people.


	12. Chapter 12

Desserts

Thursday was another sunny morning. Summer weather was here full on now and like Mick Plout, I expected a fair number of sunburn patients.

I received a call last evening from hospital and Mick was doing fine. Deirdre Scanlon called to say that he should be home on Thursday, and there would be no more surfing for him or her. I thanked her for calling.

"Doc! You saved his life!" Deirdre trilled into the phone.

"Yes, I did. It was quick action by Joe Penhale that got me there, though. You need to thank him as well."

"Yes, I need to talk to Joe to…" she paused. "I wanted to let him know that Mick and I were going out, but you know Joe, always a bit…"

"Oblivious. Yes."

"Yes, thank God for Joe. My mobile battery was flat and Mick's service was shut off when all his jobs went bust."

"I'm glad we could… put things right."

"Again, doc, you did another amazin' thing!"

"I have to disagree, Miss Scanlon. Any good doctor…"

"You can be thick, can't you?" She laughed, her voice loud in the handset. "But we didn't have any old doctor. We had YOU, you silly git! Oops, I mean…"

"It's all right. Again thank you for calling."

Deirdre laughed again. "Well Doctor Ellingham, Mick and I was talkin' last night, he's so much better, and he was sayin' that if ever you need anything fixed or put right, you just call him. Roofin', a bit of paint, you know those sashes on Fern Cottage look a fright by the way…"

"Yes, well. Miss Scanlon, now I must go as I'll have patients here in a few minutes."

"Right, of course. But I want you to know that for this baby I'm havin' I think that Martin would be a fine name or Martine if she's a girl. For without you the little bugger wouldn't have a da! Thanks!"

The phone went dead. I shook my head. The thought of some little runny nosed brat running in the school yard in a few years with my name gave me the oddest feeling.

I didn't expect that Aunty Joan would come to see me next. It was still early, and I was yet to deal with Pauline and her usual morning monotone and remarks. I had placed my breakfast dishes into the Hotpoint when there came a knock on the kitchen door. I opened the half glass door to see my aunt, Joan North.

"Marty!" she exclaimed, her beaming face peering in at me. "I brought you some vegetables and flowers too!"

"Aunty Joan. Surprised to see you. Come in. Would like anything, coffee or tea?"

"No thanks. I'm starting my deliveries and I heard about poor Mick Plout."

"Well he's fine. Anaphylaxis from reaction to jellyfish venom. He's still over in Truro in hospital."

She dropped the basket she was carrying on the table and hugged me. "Marty! That's not quite the way I heard it. I heard…"

"Yes, I know!" I leaned on the counter. "How the famous London doctor saved… I really can't stand that rubbish!"

She held onto my arm. "Marty, look at me."

"Alright."

"Now look you! I and everyone else in Portwenn, and a lot of other places as well, have put up with you and your – well, your ways - because of your skills." She started to poke a hole in my chest with her finger.

"But you listen to me, Martin Ellingham. You are part of this town of Portwenn. And how many people could have saved Mick yesterday? Well? Just you, you silly bugger, but don't let the London doctor thing get too far into your head. We know why you're here, but do you? Really?" She quit poking and broke into a huge smile, her ruddy face lighting up as she did so. "Oh, Marty, live a little. Take off that stuffy suit and relax if only for a few minutes?"

Aunty Joan was the harbor of many an affection; one of them being trust. "Aunt Joan, I'll have patients in a minute…"

She swatted my arm. "Enjoy the vegetables and perhaps you can give these flowers to one or two people you may know?" Joan left the kitchen, a beam of sunshine going out with her. I brushed my teeth and unlocked the front door.

Pauline arrived with a cheery, "Morning doc!" and she laid the day's schedule on my desk. "Look's pretty busy. Oh and Mr. Tallack left a message if you could see him for a few minutes."

"Morning Pauline…" I thought about what Aunty Joan said to Marty not five minutes before and what Steve Trent said last evening about new starts. "Uh… how is the ankle today? Uhm, well your ankle?"

"What?" she said surprised.

"Your ankle? Does it feel any better this morning?" I looked down. "Ah! I see you're wearing flat shoes for good support and I assume that the bulge under your sock is the elastic bandage."

"Yeah," she said recovering from her surprise. "It's ok, I guess. No, it's much better."

"Well… good… I'm glad to hear you say that."

"Ok. Well." She gave me a strained smile. "You want… a coffee, doc?" The sound came out strained.

I had some with breakfast. "Yes, I would. Black, if you please."

Her eyes brightened with surprise. She headed to the kitchen muttering. "Never had that happen before."

The patients started flooding in. The usual type of low grade things – cold with fever, nausea, vomiting, all the sorts of semi-infectious ailments that GPs deal with. It wasn't London as Steve Trent said.

After lunch, Bert Large came in, "Just for a minute," as he claimed.

He sat down looking unhappy. "Doc, I know told me to stay off the sweet stuff and I have. But it's worse than you know."

"How so?" I gazed at the large Mr. Large, and although he'd lost thirty pounds he remained an imposing figure.

"Well, I told you about those delicious petit fores we was buying for the restaurant. And I did get after Al for having to pick such a wonderful bakery to deliver them?"

"Yes."

"And that's the place, I mean the bakery, where I met Rosemary. She's the sweetest little…"

"Come on, Bert! I only have a minute or two. I've slotted you into the schedule, you know."

"Well… it's all your fault doc."

"My fault? For what?"

"Al quit ordering those succulent little desserts, the petit fores, you know, so Rosemary don't get out this way now."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh! And now I hear she's taken up with the sous-chef, whatever that is, over at Ocean Hill Lodge." He hung his head and sighed. "It's a tragedy doc, a real Romeo and Juliet if you get my drift, and all because you wanted me to lose weight."

"Bert. Get out!"

"But doc…"

"Get OUT! This is a surgery, no bloody dating service; take your sob story somewhere else!"

"Alright, doc. I won't be troubling you with my little problems." The floor creaked as he stood to go. "Just one more thing, doc."

I replied wearily. "Yes, Bert."

"What does this sous-chef cook? Does he only cook sous? I'm not sure that I know what that is. Are they better broiled, roasted, or fried?"

I stood and could only point to the door.

"Doc?"

I spoke through clenched teeth. "Bert, the sous-chef is the under chef and is the head chef's assistant. There is no such animal, fish, or bird that is a sous. Understand? Now if you please…" I pointed again to the door.

Bert Large smiled. "Ah. That's what I like about you doc, always tryin' to educate people. Now, I shall go." With great solemnity he left.

My head slumped. If the surgery was filled with Bert Larges nothing would ever be accomplished.

I walked into the waiting room with Bert's chart. I gave it to Pauline. "Everything all right, Pauline?"

"Oh, I suppose. But I don't there's every been a time that you haven't yelled at Bert when he was in your surgery. Must be serious, eh doc?"

I shook my head. "There is nothing wrong, medically with Bert Large. At least not that serious."

"Ok. But are you feeling alright doc?" She looked at me across the desk. "No fever, or aches, maybe you haven't been sleeping well?"

"I'm quite alright, Pauline. Now – who is my next patient?"

"Well it was to be Miss Deane again, but she cancelled, so I think we'll do Mr. Tallack next."

I turned and saw Paul Tallack sitting in the room, the only patient in evidence. I took his chart in hand. "Mr. Tallack please go through. Thank you Pauline."

I heard Pauline mutter to herself. "Please _and_ thank you?"

She'd been doing a lot of that today. Mysterious.


	13. Chapter 13

Adjustments

Paul Tallack walked slowly ahead of me and he eased himself down on my patient chair.

"Good afternoon. Mr. Tallack. What can I do for you?"

"Well, doctor, Jeanie, I mean Mrs. Tallack, said that I should come see you."

"Oh, yes? Feeling fit are you?"

"Well, no. Not really."

"Symptoms?"

"Well, toilet trouble."

"I understand you're just back from Brazil?"

"Aye. Four and a half months on this telecom project training. We'll be putting new towers up along the coast. And they have these new antennas… but you don't need to hear about that."

"Go on."

"A bit of a bad tummy now though. Started about two weeks ago."

"Did you eat anything from a street market or vendor while there?"

"I suppose I did."

"Most likely an amoeba of some sort. We'll do an exam, I'll start you on a course of drugs, and I'll also ask you for a stool sample to culture for organisms so we can be specific with a treatment. You can bring the sample back Friday."

"Alright. Where uh…"

"Please come to the exam table and lie down." The abdominal exam was not remarkable; no tenderness, or tenseness. He winced as he stood up and tucked in his vest and shirt.

"Problem?"

"Hah! Well, yes, no, yes… I suppose."

"Go on."

"Well, doc, my Jeanie she's different now, but you know that."

"Yes, I know."

He stared at the floor for a moment. "While I was away…"

"Yes, Mr. Tallack, I am aware of the plastic surgery procedure your wife underwent."

Mr. Tallack looked up at the ceiling and his lip shook. "Now what I have to tell you is absolutely secret – not a word – total mum."

"Hm." I leaned back in my chair. "Please tell me what is troubling you."

He started slowly. "I don't know quite how to say this, so here goes. While I was away at training, you know, I met someone. One of the company agents down there. Her name was Maria."

I could guess where this was going. "So you had an affair."

"Yes, oh yes. And I've ever so sorry about it. Damn me!"

"Have you told your wife?'

"No! And I pray you won't either."

"Paul," I said using his first name for the first time, "what passes between a patient and a doctor is confidential, unless called into a court of law."

"Well… I'll tell you then. You see Maria is about my wife's height and weight, blonde hair, blue eyes, and… she's built rather…" He waved his hands in the air using the universal hourglass symbol.

I sighed. "Paul, I fail to see what this all means?"

He got out of the chair and walked to the window, looking at the ferns on the hillside behind the cottage. He put his arms behind his back and braced them – former army no doubt. Paul Tallack stood there straight and square until he turned around. Then I saw his face twist up in anguish.

"Mr. Tallack?"

He held up his hand. "It's alright, doc. I'm just…" and his voice broke.

"Yes, upset." I rose and gave him a handful of tissues.

He started speaking in a slowly. "I promised myself… promised myself, I'd not… see her again… you see…" He stopped and blew his nose.

"You mean, in Brazil."

"Of course in Brazil! What do you think I meant? So I get off the bloody train and there was Jeanie to meet me."

"Yes, your wife met you at the station. I don't understand what you're saying."

Paul Tallack turned again to the window. "Doc, I believe in a cruel God."

"Isn't that what Othello said in Verdi's opera?"

"Opera fan, doc? Who knew? Yes. That is what Othello said."

I was trying to tie together Jeanie Tallack's transformation, her husband's infidelity, and his statements today. "I'm sorry, Mr. Tallack, I really don't understand."

"Well it seems that Fate is a busy woman. The woman waiting for me at the station looked like Maria!"

"What?"

"Yes," he went on. "Her bleached hair, blue contacts – where did she get that idea – and the surgery to um…" he held cupped hands in front of his chest, "made Jeanie look like my Brazilian lover!"

I could only sit down.

"Even down to bright print dresses! It's uncanny! The woman that I was unfaithful _with_ has now been replicated _by _my wife! Sleeping with me… at my house! I swore that I wouldn't see her any more! I'd keep her a very guilty secret in the back of my mind, and then there she was calling me and waving from the platform when I got off the coach!"

I sat in my chair few a few seconds then said, "I told your wife that with the changes she underwent that the two of you might expect some…er… adjustments."

"Doc!" he laughed. "Each time I look at Jeanie now, there's Maria! I'll _never_ be rid of her!"

I was in university a very long time, then years of surgery, then retraining for general practice, but never, ever had I encountered something like this. "Mr. Tallack, I assure you that your wife loves you… other wise, why…"

"Yes, I know. She was extremely glad to see me home. Extremely! You have no idea!" He wrung his hands and his pleading eyes looked into mine. "Now doc, suggestions? What can I do?"

I stalled for time. "Well… you may be able to get her back to the old hair color, and toss the ultra-blue contact lenses, as for the rest…" I cleared my throat. "You'll, have to get used to… uhm… make… certain adjustments…"

"She even changed her entire wardrobe and bought all new shoes. This entire thing is costing me a packet!"

"Paul, you asked if I believed in a cruel God. Well, I don't." I thought of a surgeon who was afraid of blood. "But I do believe that he, or she, has a huge sense of humor."

Paul Tallack, now sentenced to a lifetime of visual and unending regret, laughed out loud until the tears fell.


	14. Chapter 14

Eyes

Friday was more of the usual. Runny nosed children, a fever or two, blood tests for cholesterol (Pauline drew the samples), a suspected case of hyperthyroidism (more blood), hand caught in a door, a case of suspected food poisoning, a strained neck; they went on and on.

As a surgeon at Imperial in London I'd consult on twenty patients a day, operate on five or six, post-op follow ups, a hallway meeting or three, hector and teach my residents along the way, staff meetings, paper work, and if lucky might catch one full meal a day. My Portwenn surgery was busy, but a different sort of busy.

Around 4 o'clock the Worden's came into the office. Mr. George Worden, walked strong and upright, half supporting his wife Josie. The old lady was fairly crippled by osteoarthritis of the knees and hips. I was surprised to see both of them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Worden, come in. I didn't know you were on the schedule."

Josie Worden answered. "Oh, I came to town with George and went to market. And when we saw…" she turned to her husband. "You tell him, George, I don't think…" She sniffed into a lace handkerchief in her hand.

"Well, doctor. You see I took that camera you gave me and it's a fine thing, isn't it. Such a little thing, all stuffed with electronic thinga-ma-bobs, but by gosh it does take wonderful pictures. You see I went a walkin' the other day, and I went everywhere. All over town, up on the headland - had myself a fine walk."

Josie turned back to me, her admiring face turned from her husband's ruddy face to mine. "Oh, doctor, you can't imagine what you've done for us, both of us!"

"Yeah, doc," George continued. "I must have took near two hundred pictures, took me a little while to get the hang of it, but most of 'em are grand! I took the camera to the gift shop there on Dolphin Street and they printed them off for me." He smiled. "Here's a handful of 'em. Look at these!"

I took the envelope from his outstretched hand and began a visual tour of Portwenn, Cornwall.

Josie chimed in. "And doctor, when I seen these, look at that one there, the seagulls flying over that red fishing boat, that's Frank's, I knew him when he was just a sprout, but look at them! It's like I was there!"

"Oh and doc, there was this fellow in the shop, lookin' over my shoulder when I first saw these here photos. He was up from Falmouth, a magazine editor he says, and he wants to buy some of these! Could have blowed me over." George laughed. "Josie and me are goin' to meet with him and his wife for lunch tomorrow at the Lamb and talk about money matters. And he says that he'd be glad to buy the best of my photos. Who'd have thought such a thing?"

I flipped through pictures of birds, fishing boats, a dolphin leaping over another. "Mr. Worden, I say these are really very fine. Good for you."

Josie beamed at me. "And when I seen these pics, I said to George we got to show 'em to Doctor Martin."

"Well, er, thank you… there've very fine… glad to see…" I managed to get out.

Josie now was crying freely. "And when my old eyes seen these lovely photographs they made me cry, just like now! Doctor, I never seen a dolphin leap before, but my George, he brought it to me and put right into my hands! All these years I live here, girl and woman, and never seen a one!"

George went on. "Look how happy you made Josie and me! And let me tell you if that fella from Falmouth likes more of these picture, and he pays me enough, I'll by buyin' my own camera. So then you'll get your's back!"

"Er, fine, well, is there anything else? I mean of a medical nature?" I thought I had one more patient to see, and I needed to move them along. "I may have another patient…"

Jose Worden smiled broadly at me. "Don't mind us, doc, we'll be goin' now."

George helped her to her feet saying, "And I heard that you helped Mick Plout out too, something about tangling with some sea monster?"

"Er, no, a… uhm, jellyfish. It was really PC Penhale who called me…"

"Now, doc!" Josie interrupted me. "That's not what we heard."

George laughed. "Aye, doc. Why I said to Josie and her mates the other day that Portwenn was one lucky village when you came here. If not for you the bodies would be a pilin' up in the streets!"

"Er, thank you for coming… and showing me your uhm… photos."

"You're something else Doc Martin," Josie Worden said. "Seeing the pictures that George took, made me a new woman. Didn't fix my legs you know, but it made me see the beauty around this old village. Made me so much happier. You've cured me and without medicine too! Goodbye doctor and god bless." She patted my hand as I helped her up.

I held the door to the waiting room as George helped Josie out. "Thank you… good to see… er, goodbye."

George patted my arm. "Doc I had extra copies of some of the pictures. Look, Pauline's got 'em on her desk right there. I thought you might like to have 'em. Bye now." He smiled hugely.

I walked with them to the front door and watched as George loaded Josie into their car parked next to my Lexus. "Bye, doc!" Josie shouted from the window as they drove away down the hill.

Inside, Pauline was looking at the pictures George had left. "Oh look, doc! Here's the slipway and the lifesavers, there I am too, Penhale looking very important…" she oodled on. "The Crab, the Post Office…" she droned on.

I went back into my surgery. "Pauline, any more patients?"

"No doc. Miss Deane was coming in, but she called; said she's started following your instructions, and she's feeling much better."

I sighed. "At least one patient in this village is following instructions, at least for one day."

"What was that doc?"

"Nothing."

Pauline came in. "My foot's feeling much better."

"Good."

"Oh and here doc. Look at these pictures." She plopped a pile of them onto my desk and they splayed out in a fan shape. "Seein' as how it's your camera, I think you should have these." Pauline fairly skipped to the door, ankle and all.

I didn't bother to admonish her from stressing the joint too much, as I was staring at the pictures.

One was the schoolyard with children running with Louisa Glasson in the foreground. Another showed Louisa on her bike. All the rest were of Louisa. Walking, waving, chatting with Al and Bert, sitting at the Large restaurant, talking to Pauline in the market, and standing outside the Lamb Pub. The last showed a close up, with Louisa smiling into the camera, eyes bright.


	15. Chapter 15

Beholder

The week had been everything from mundane to exciting – Mick Plout gasping away at my feet certainly had to be the peak – looking into a scummy ear canal was the bottom. I straightened up the desk, and started to clean the counters, as Pauline slammed drawers and prepared to close up for the week. Not that I'd be off duty for the weekend. That never happened.

Pauline scuffed into the room as I was disinfecting the counters with antiseptic. "Ugh that does stink! Doc? You needing me any more today?"

"Nope." I continued to wipe the counter.

"Did you like those pictures?"

"Yep."

"Oh, alright, just act like…"

"Pauline!" I looked up at her and then down quickly. "The pictures… yes."

"They're nice, aren't they? Mr. Worden did a great job, didn't he? Very nice of him to bring those, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes."

"What's that? You're not going to answer yep?"

I smiled at her. "Nope." I went back to wiping the counter in a circular motion, bending over as I did so.

Pauline came over, limping a minor mount I noticed. "Oh, doc…" she said and slung her left arm across my back, grabbed my right shoulder with her right hand and pressed her cheek against my right shoulder.

"Pauline, erh, what are you doing?"

"Nothing." She let go, but peered up into my eyes. "Doctor Ellingham…"

"Pauline?"

"Doc, oh doc." She sighed and stared at the floor for a moment, but stayed close. "Listen, I know you don't like it when other people tell you things, especially me, but I don't care." Her voice grew softer. "Look… you have to listen to me, just this once. I don't care if you never listen to me again, but this one time…"

"Pauline, what are you talking about?"

He ginger head fell, another sigh came, and she shook her head. "Wait…" she swept to the desk, where the photos of Louisa were arrayed in neat rows and columns. She looked down at them. "Well, maybe you do care."

She picked up a photo and returned. Pauline cupped the picture in her hand. "Look, just look," she said, then held it to my face.

It was the close up outside the pub. Louisa's hair was back, a few strands blown across her forehead, eyes bright, teeth shining through parted lips.

"What do you see, doc?"

"It's a picture of Louisa Glasson, the headmistress of Portwenn School, of course!"

"No, you're wrong, doc." She pressed the picture into my hand. "Now you look at it, really look at it." She went into the waiting room. "Goodnight doc!" she called. I heard footsteps, then the front door closed and was locked.

I sat at my desk, looking at the photo and turning it from side to side. I had been factual with Pauline, but only that. The picture went back in the center of its fellows. I walked to the kitchen and looked long and hard at the table. This was where I sat when Louisa and I finished, two, was it two, bottles of my father's wine. This was where I told Louisa… that I loved her… that I thought of her all the time … that I couldn't get her out of my head. And she kissed me and I kissed her back. And I hadn't followed through - I hadn't followed through.

I washed my hands and began to cook dinner.

After dinner, I washed up, went to the lavatory and shaved, the electric razor nipping off the whiskers finely. I changed my tie, the first being spotted by various effusions of patient. I brushed my hair and stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

The crowd of tank-topped and shorts wearing teenage girls was walking down Rosscarrock Hill in front of the surgery. They began their usual chorus of cries.

"Hiya, doc!", "Don't you look nice!", "Going to town are we, doc?" with smoochy noises for effect. "Looking for a girlfriend, doc?" along a chorus of giggles.

I could only stand in front of the cottage and let it flow. They passed with backward glances. God I dislike those girls – at least their behavior. The silence returned and next came Judy Ellis and David Faull, holding hands.

"Doctor Ellingham," she said. "My ear is doing fine now."

"I'm erh, glad."

"And Davey's finger is healing too."

"Heah, doc. I been putting ice on it. But how long to have to keep this metal splint on it?" David added.

"At least two weeks. Come see me then."

"Sure, doc. Thanks." He put his other arm around Judy.

Judy butted in. You know, I want my ears pierced 'cause Davey said he was gonna buy me earrings, but with the ear and all, he bought me this necklace instead. Look!"

Around her neck was a silver chain with a small bird figure on it.

"See! It's a seagull, sort of a pre-engagement…"

David nudged her. "Shush, Judy. Don't let the cat out!"

She blushed. "Just our secret, you know. Our secret… bye doc!"

They went off, the smiling girl and not-so-sullen pimply faced boy. I suppose Judy saw something in him that I did not. But they say that love is blind. Perhaps if she cleaned him up a bit…

I passed the Large Restaurant on the way down the road. Bert Large was at the host's stand regaling a tall grayish haired lady on the delights to be found within. She apparently agreed to be seated, and I saw him take her by the elbow. Bert saw me peering at him and gave me a wink. Bert Large had bounced back from his heartsickness over Rosie, or Rosemary, or whomever. He could charm a snake, so I hoped the woman was prepared for the flattery to come.

On the slipway I found Pauline heading up the hill. "Pauline, I thought you went home."

"I did doc." She smoothed her skirt. "I did change clothes; just going up now to see Al Large."

"Won't he be cooking away?"

"Well, of course. Friday night's a busy night for them! But I can sit and talk to him can't I?"

I looked at the enthusiastic Pauline Lamb, who had put up with me all day, and was now ready to park herself in a hot kitchen while her boyfriend slaved away barely paying attention to her. But, perhaps she had more sense than I thought. "Well, of course; no stopping you."

She laughed. "I think you're starting to figure me out; just a bit."

"Umph, well… I'd better, be…uhm, going."

"Sure. Bye doc. You going somewhere?"

"Pub."

"Really? She batted her eyes at me. "Maybe you have listened to me? No, can't be that!" She laughed and walked away. I took a few steps when Pauline ran back to me. "Just so you know, I bumped into Mr. Worden the other morning on my way to the surgery. He told me his plan for the photos and all. I, um, suggested that he take some snaps of more than just birds and waves… like a certain teacher?"

I was speechless, but I struck my head with my hand.

"Have a nice time, doc!" she called as she hurried away.

Seems to me that girl has a mind of her own, which is part of our difficulties in the office.

I continued my walk, having PC Penhale stopping the patrol rover in the street. "Doctor!"

"Hello, Joe."

"Out for a walk? Fine night!"

"No, er, well, yes."

"Ok." He twisted his head round and surveyed the street. "Say I want you to know that my particular issue is fading and no more itching." He spoke quietly.

"I see that you're not nearly as orange as you were."

"Thanks, doctor. I knew I could count on you."

"Just, doing my…" I stopped. Pauline's comment from the other day rung in my head. "Glad I could help."

"Righto! Oh and doctor, know what? Mick is doing fine, back home now. Deirdre called her cousin, says she's a lovely girl named Caitlyn, and the two of us are meeting for tea tomorrow."

"That's nice Joe."

"I owe it all to you doctor, Deirdre told me _you_ told _her_ that if wasn't for _me_ puttin' out the call on Mick, well, we'd have had a real bad case. You know?"

"Joe, yes …good that we could… co-operate."

"That's what I thought too! Public safety for Portwenn! Me and Doctor Martin! Bye!" He drove away.

A blast of noise met me at the door of the Lamb Pub. People were apparently celebrating the end of the week, and I could understand the concept. I was peering inside when someone spun me around.

Mrs. Tallack held me by the arm. "Doc! So nice to see you. Paul and I were just going in. Join us." She was wearing another revealing blouse, but her make up was less glaring than the other day.

"Come on doc!" chimed in her husband. "I'll stand you to a mineral water!"

I shrugged off her hand. "Well, I was hoping to meet…"

Paul Tallack shook his head. "No, Jeanie, let's leave the man alone. He knows what, or who, he wants. And it's not us!" He laughed then his voice dropped. "And doc, me and Jeanie, well we're sorting things out."

"Fine. Don't let me… delay you!"

"Thanks, doc," cried Paul.

They joined the crowd of people inside. I was hesitating further, wondering if I could, or would go inside, when a delightful voice spoke up behind me.

"Martin?"

I turned to see Louisa Glasson, the one person in all of Portwenn I wished to see.

"What brings you here?" she asked. Her eyes fixed me in place and I imagined this must be what a bird feels, staring into a snake's eyes, before the fangs strike. Frozen.

A void filled my head; a void I could not fill with words. But part of my mind, the commanding surgeon, stepped up. This was the part that could scream at befuddled residents, useless orderlies, penny pinching hospital administrators, or silly patients, but with icy precision dissect a tangle of aneurism from a bowel and remove a life threatening condition.

_You bloody fool, _it began in my head_, are you going to stand here like an idiot with your mouth hanging open the rest of the evening? Good god, Martin, get a move on. You wanted to see her. Here she is! Say SOMETHING!_

_Ellingham! _the voice went on, _are you blind, man? Judy and that David, she wants that silly git. Bert Large chasing women, even those he has no chance of catching! Jeanie Tallack and her remorseful husband Paul – a sorry mess – but somehow even they are getting on. _

_Old Mr. Worden walking miles and miles and all those pictures he took for his wife. And she loves him for it. And that American, trapped between two women – one the harpy he wanted – the other his legal wife, which he went back to. It doesn't make any sense, Martin, it never has, but you need this woman. All the other men around here can find the one they want to be with. Why not you?_

_Even Joe Penhale the agoraphobic and neurotic policeman found someone, even if it was the wrong one and he dyed himself orange in the process!_

_So what's it to be Ellingham? Are you going to sit up there messing with that stupid clock each night. while Louisa sits alone, across the harbor? Well? LOOK AT HER! NOW! SAY SOMETHING!_

I knew this voice, as I had used it many a time and I knew it was not to be disobeyed.

Louisa stood a foot and a half away, mouth open, waiting for me to respond. And I could see that she started to drop her eyes, in a moment her foot will move and I will have lost another opportunity.

_COME ON ELLINGHAM! _The surgeon's voice screamedagain_. DON'T YOU LOVE HER?_

As if hoisting a massive weight, I reach out and take her hand. "You, Louisa, you. I came to meet you!"


	16. Chapter 16

Louisa

Martin had that look. The one that means he has something to say and can't quite get it out; almost like he's choking on a chicken bone. There's a bead of sweat on his forehead which is odd as I don't think it's that warm tonight.

His suit looks nice, the ever present tie is freshly knotted - no wrinkles - and it looks as if he's shaved as well. I think the only time I've seen Martin Ellingham less than well dressed was in the back of the ambulance, tending to my student Peter Cronk, with his coat gone, and a spray of bright blood spraying his chest. Oh, and of course the next morning in Truro hospital waiting for the news on Peter. But even then, Martin was as semi-groomed as could be expected; a blue hospital shirt replacing the bloody one.

When Peter was bleeding to death in that ambulance, blood pressure near zero, I looked at Martin. From his face, I could tell that he knew he had to do something, though he is a surgeon afraid of blood. I remember crying out "Oh, Martin!" as I twisted the plasma bag overhead.

His eyes were blank, but they changed in an instant, he pursed his lips, turned to the med tech and said, "Prepare his upper left quadrant!" and then "Give me gloves and a blade!" Then he did it; sliced that poor little boy open, injured by my urging, and saved his life. The man of action as well as a man afraid of blood, with his fingers pressed inside Peter.

Then the long wait at hospital. Next that testy meeting with Dr. Adrian Pitts, that bad-mouthing bastard, and the taxi ride back home. Peter was safe and I felt the same.

And that tender moment, it couldn't have been more than half a minute, when we kissed. But his snarky question about bad breath destroyed the feeling. I should have done more than kick him out of the taxi! But there was something… special and there still is.

I think about that man, that doctor, who took life-saving measures in that rocking ambulance, in spite of his fears, literally a savior, now standing right next to me, afraid to speak.

There's something about this man, this Doctor Martin Ellingham, nephew of Joan Norton, whom I've known all my life. Aunty Joan, smiling and open, oh yes able to shout too, but also a loving person. She's the aunt of Marty, and they must have an easier relationship then Martin has with the rest of us. I've seen glimpses of that; then the door slams and the brusque doctor comes back.

But, given the right place, his kitchen, along with the right person, me, and lubed with the proper liquid, red wine, he actual opened up, with the most remarkable words. Words that must be choking him at the moment.

And what is it that draws me to him? The hair, the ears, the intellect, or the loner on the playground that he must have been as a boy at school? He's a wounded man, hiding in the verge along the road, and there must be some way to draw him out. He's an onion and I may never find all the layers. But he does kiss nicely, when he's not talking. Plus he did save my eyesight… It must be more than gratitude, right, Louisa?

And why haven't you told him to bugger off? If Dan was here, and no Martin, I'd probably be engaged to Dan! Scary thought, girl.

But when I see Martin … like when Mark Mylow had me dancing and Martin came in, and the look of disappointment on his face, and he turned away. I didn't want to be dancing with Mark, I wanted Martin to dance, but he left.

When I see Martin Ellingham, I see someone I want… to know better.

Well must be a bit more than that Ms. Glasson, otherwise why are you glad you have on the white blouse with the little black diamonds plus your new bra, and why are you thinking that you're glad you touched up your makeup? And that you brushed your teeth _and_ used Listerine?

Should I say something? Break the spell? Or should I walk away, into the pub, where there are plenty of people to engage me in talk and laughter? If I do that, I'll have a nice time, but I'll keep turning back to the open door, peering to the darkness, knowing that Martin is _out_ _there_, walking away, disappointed once more. And I will sit in the pub, feeling his ache, and not knowing what to do.

Those words and the wine - he said that he loved me, that he couldn't stop thinking about me – is it wine that he needs? Wine to loosen his tongue, yet we kissed and the alcohol put him out cold on the table; the table that was in the way. Blasted table!

So if I let him drink water he can be cold and judgmental, along with rude and mean sometimes. But if he drinks wine, he loosens up, but then he falls asleep.

There must be some way to balance those extremes; to get Martin, maybe it's really Marty, to be here, right here with me. No medical jargon spewing forth, no hypercritical judgments on people or society, no pronouncements of doom or correction.

All this flashes through my head in an instant.

Martin looks up and I see that special look in his eyes – the look from the ambulance – he's made a decision. He raises his left hand and takes my right one. His strong fingers hold it tightly.

"You, Louisa, you. I came to meet you!" Martin says.

I tilt my face toward his and give Martin the biggest smile I have ever had and I feel that there is hope.


	17. Chapter 17

Hands

"I'm glad to see you too, Martin! Very glad! Are you, uhm," I bite my lips, "we… going in?"

"Are we?" he asks.

"Well, I thought about having some wine."

"Ah," he says, and he pulls at his tie, which looks a bit tight. "I'd rather have…

"Yeah, I know, water."

He smiles in his grim way. "I could have sparkling water."

Some tourists barge out of the pub as some lifesavers try to go in. It's a wave of people and they push us apart. "Martin!" My hand slips off his and the distance grows.

"Louisa!" he calls through the crush.

Then the most amazing thing happens. Like God blinks or something. The people stop. Some look at me, a few at Martin. And then they switch their looks from him to me, me to him.

"Sorry, mate," someone calls.

A woman lets out, "For goodness sake! Sorry."

Then silence falls and Martin holds out his hand, and they part, like the Red Sea.

"Here!" he calls and grabs my outstretched arm and pulls me to him.

I sort of collide with his square body, looking up at his face as he throws his other arm around me.

"Better?" he asks.

I laugh. "A little!"

"Make way, you tossers!" Martin yells and the crush opens out.

"Sorry, doc. Sorry Louisa" I hear.

"Martin! Did you have to call them tossers?" I whisper as they go their various ways.

"Yes."

He still holds me outside the door of the Lamb Pub. "Martin, the uhm, crowd is gone."

"Yes," he says, "but they may come back."

I press my forehead against his shoulder and laugh. "Well, then you'd better hold on!"

"Right." Martin says and drops his arm from my shoulders, but keeps my other hand. "Is this alright?" He holds my hand up so I can see it.

"Yes. Better than alright." I interlock my fingers with his. "You know Martin, this is just the way we stood in hospital when Peter was wheeled into surgery."

He looks at our hands. "My right held your left."

"You remember that?"

He looks at our clasped hands again. "Yes. I do. Can't forget it."

Who knew? "Martin Ellingham, I think you are a softy."

He drops my hand. "Unlikely," he mutters.

Oops. So I slip my hand through his crooked elbow. "Shall we walk?"

"Don't you want to drink… wine?" He sneers a bit and tosses his head at the open door of the pub where the noise inside blasts out to the street.

"No," I say. "Let's just walk."

"Right."

We start walking away from the slipway and the harbor businesses. The shops are all closed, but the pubs, B&Bs and hotels are all open. People go back and forth – the impromptu pub crawl of Portwenn Friday night is in swing.

His long legs eat up the pavement and I have to pull him back a bit. "Easy, Martin! These boots are tough to walk uphill in."

Martin looks at them in the dimness. "Heels? On boots?"

"I know… impractical… but I like them"

He looks down again. "I… uh…" he struggles. "And blue jeans."

"Yes. I like them with this blouse."

"Then I think they're fine."

Fine? That's the best I can get is a 'fine'? Why these jeans cost… Louisa, he's saying they're fine. He means it. Let it go. "Thanks," I say without much enthusiasm.

We've wandered up past the Crab and are overlooking the bay of Portwenn. There's a bench here, right near the edge, where a cliff path begins.

So I take my jean clad legs and the high-heeled boots, and my white silk v-necked blouse with the fitted waist, and my tender pink body within and drag him by the hand to the bench. "Let's sit Martin," I say so I sit on the wood.

He looks at the bench suspiciously.

"Looking for dirt, Martin?"

He mutters. "Can't see the dirt in this light."

"There is some moonlight, Martin. And you think this bench is dirty?" I ask. "Good enough for me."

"Well then," Martin says and he sits down but keeps holding my left hand.

So we sit, silently, and it's both calm and boring. After two or three minutes of uneasy quiet I turn to him and speak. "The other day, Wednesday, was it Wednesday, I don't know… well, when I saw you at school."

"Yes, the uh, ball that hit you."

"Yes, the ball thing. Do you know what I heard those boys say? The ones I took inside early?"

"No; haven't a clue."

"I heard those little sneaks giggling about how they were trying to hit you with the ball, but got me instead! Can you imagine?"

"Really? Well give me their names and I'll make sure that on their next office visit I dose them with the foulest tasting medicine I know of."

I laugh. "You made a joke!"

He tips his head a little, and turns a bit, not quite so directly looking out to sea. "Did I?" he says, but a tiny "hah" escapes his lips.

"Martin Ellingham you did make a joke! Even if your sense of humor is ghastly!"

"You should see me with a hypodermic – absolutely hilarious."

Another joke. Well. I extract my fingers, now numb from his grip, and putting my hand on his thigh I pat it. "Martin there may be hope for you after all."

He covers my hand with his and turns to face me. "If you say so."

I look at Doctor Martin Ellingham, his short cropped hair gleaming in the moonlight, throw my right hand around his neck and kiss him full on the lips.


	18. Chapter 18

Clocks

Martin Ellingham can be impolite, brash, and rude. He can also slice open a little boy and save his life with his almost his bare hands. At the same time he can be the most infuriating man on the planet. But as our lips parted after quite a while, I wondered how he learned to kiss so nicely?

I pull away and rest my cheek against his. "No table this time," I tell him.

"Table?" he rumbles, "Ah my kitchen table. You know some time back I caught Pauline and Al snogging on that table?"

He smells good, sort of a manly scent with a hint of disinfectant and sweat and I don't mind hugging him. "Really? Well."

"I'm thinking I should replace it," he says.

"Oh, no, Martin! Why don't you keep it?"

"Should I?" he says and looks me full in the face. "Ok. I shall."

"Lucky table." I say, shocked I blurted that out.

"Yep. It is a nice table… holds plates off the floor and everything. Especially nice for plates," he starts and finishes with, "and other things."

I toss back my hair and look him in the eye. "And fixing clocks."

"That too."

"Martin, tell me about your clock."

"It's broken."

"Yes, I know that."

"It was set adrift by the movers, those stupid… my great-grandfather owned that clock."

"Were you close to him?"

"No, never knew him."

"So sort of a family heirloom."

"I suppose."

"Why not get it fixed?"

"I'm working on it."

"And you think you can fix it?"

"Maybe."

"I bet you can fix anything." I smile at him. "Easier than fixing Peter Cronk and a ruptured spleen?"

"Lord no, Louisa. I can fix the clock, and I will in time; just a matter of time. But Peter…"

"I know," I say and stroke his shoulder. "That was awful."

"Time was paramount. No delay. Yes, it was awful," he says and quivers a little. "At least I didn't vomit."

"Sorry, to bring it up Martin."

"Now Mick Plout…"

"Yes, I wanted to ask about that. The children are all agog now about jellyfish."

"Sorry Louisa, I can't discuss a patient's case!"

I pat his cheek. "I'm not asking you to, Doctor Martin. Just tell me about jellyfish and their stings."

And he does. Sometime during the lecture, which was too long of course – this is Martin after all – I found that he is great teacher. I discovered more about jellyfish and how they sting with nematocysts than I have ever heard.

But when Martin was starting down the biochemical pathways of the human nervous system and how pain is propagated along the neurons, I put my hand firmly on his mouth.

"Stop. The point being that if you hadn't been there…"

"Yes." And he draws his hand across his throat.

"Ouch."

"Louisa, did I hurt you?"

He's squeezing me a little tightly. "No, I just mean… pretty tough for Mick and his girl. And I heard that she's pregnant too."

"Yes!" he exclaims. "Is there no secret in this village?"

"Martin, haven't you learnt that a favorite past time here is passing gossip?"

He laughs. "With every beer served a helping of gossip!" he sneers.

I look at Martin and ask what I think I need to ask. "So Martin. The night of the wine and the kitchen table. I want to talk about that."

"Right, of course you do."

"What do you mean of course I do?" I stand and tower over him for once.

He looks up, down, left and right. I can tell he's embarrassed.

"I uh told you… that… I…"

Come on Martin, we've been getting on famously. Don't muck it up now. "Yes," I say.

"That I love you, Louisa!"

I squat down, put my arms on his shoulders and look him full in the face. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

He screws up his face and then opens his eyes. "Yes."

"Hard? Why? Oh, Martin, I didn't know…"

That sets him off. "That I meant it?" he roars. "Good God, Louisa, of _course_ I meant it. Why would I say it, if I didn't mean it?"

"Oh Martin, the wine and all, and then you conked out on the table. So I wasn't sure…"

"So that's what happened! I remember telling you, then we uh… kissed, and you said something about the table being in the way…"

"Then I stood and moved to get to you and you were out. Like a light."

"Oh." He has that look of introspection now.

"Yes, oh. So I covered you with a blanket, couldn't move you, you must go 13 stone or more, and I left. Saddest walk of my life."

Martin looks thoughtful again – the chicken bone thing. "Saddest?"

"Yes Martin, because my clock is running, unlike your mantel clock and I thought we… connected."

"Things happen Louisa."

"I know," I sigh. "We just keep getting messed up, don't we?" I plop back on the bench.

"Why is that?" he asks.

I look up at the moon. "I don't know - you, me, Fate."

He looks at me and puts an arm about my shoulders. It feels good. "Clocks run down. They get broken."

"What can we do?" I think of the boys with the football this week, intentionally messing with us. "If only…"

He shakes his head. "We need to try harder. Fix that clock – keep things running. Keep Fate out of the way."

"Alright." I snuggle in his arms and press against him. He moves closer.

Martin says, "I'm glad Dan the architect is gone."

"Me too."


	19. Chapter 19

Gossip

A bike goes past in the dark, and Martin looks around guardedly. "Who was that?"

I look toward the road as the bike goes down the hill. "Don't know. Does it matter?"

"It might," he says, but he doesn't relax. "Just that…" he pauses, "I'm not sure…"

I finally get it. "What? That you don't want to be seen snogging the head teacher of Portwenn school?" Reflexively I shrug out of his arms and scoot further away.

"No, Louisa… it's just that I'm…"

"Just what? Martin we are adults and consenting besides!" The blood rushes to my face. But looking at him I can tell I've pushed him too far. He has the look of rising blood pressure. "No wait, Martin," I say but he stands up.

He takes two steps and then stops. His hands are clenched at the ends of rigid arms.

"Martin? No. I'm sorry…"

I can see his shoulders relax a little.

I hear him sigh. "Damn it Louisa!" he blurts out. "Can't you tell?"

I knew this was a mine field and I've hit one. "Please, don't…" I brace for an impact. His head slumps but he turns and I expect to see what I usually see. Anger, rage, with a strong dose of sarcasm.

"Louisa," he begins through clenched teeth, "I'm… erh… sorry."

"Oh!" Martin actually apologized to me?

"I'm … well, it's the gossip, you know?"

Oh-ho! "And you don't want…" I go to him and hug him. "Martin, they're already spreading gossip. Don't you see that? It's alright!"

He puts an arm across my shoulders. "I know… and I don't like it! Pauline and the rest… Bert, Mr. Worden… they all… _talk_… about us!"

"No one likes it, Martin. No one wants to be the point of it," I say gently, before he bolts. "But don't you think that from the moment you got arrived in Portwenn they were talking about you and me? Not right away, but people do speculate…"

"They can speculate all I want, but that rubbish… well. Let's give them something," he mutters and he plants a killer kiss on me.

After my knees grow weak and my pulse races for a minute or so he stops. Well, maybe I let him stop. Hard to say; have to come up for air once in a while. "Well, Martin, you're not wasting any time, are you?"

"We've wasted too much." He smiles down at me. "Want another go?"

So we are _busy_ as I hear a vehicle pull up and stop.

"Everything all right?" comes a hearty voice.

I turn, and oh God it's bloody PC Joe Penhale.

"Oh, Doctor, Miss Louisa, it's you! Hello!" he shouts.

Martin drops his arms and pulls at the bottom of his suit coat. "Hello, Joe," he says and his lip curls.

PC Penhale gets out of the Bedford and walks over; right up to us. "Evening!"

"Evening," I say trying to stand casually. "Anything wrong?" I brush hair out of my face.

"No, no!" Joe says. "Just checking. You know those teenagers, those hoodies, I've seen them hanging about up here." He produces a flashlight and waves the beam around.

"Joe!" blurts Martin, but he controls himself, barely. "We… were … only … talking."

"Right. If you say so, Doctor." He flashes the light at our faces quickly then down at the cliff edge, a few feet away. "You know this can be a very dangerous spot. Very dangerous. Look, right over here. The cliff's all crumbly. Wouldn't want you two to have an accident!"

I glance at Martin and he's building up that frustrated look of his.

"Joe," I jump into the fray, "we're ok. Really!"

"Alright, Louisa, if you say so. I'll be off." He turns to leave, but then says, "Doctor Ellingham, could I talk to you a moment? Perhaps you could step over here to the vehicle?"

Penhale walks off and with a roll of his eyes, Martin follows. Joe opens the driver's door, the inside light comes on, and I can see Martin better. His hair is definitely mused and I can see… oh no!

I slump onto the bench, and rearrange my neckline; somehow it got twisted and a button is open. Whew! I hear the men's voices and I try to make out what they're saying. At last the door slams and the engine starts.

"Goodnight Doctor, goodnight Louisa!" Penhale calls cheerily and pulls away.

Martin stands in the road so I walk up to him. He looks defeated. The man who has saved lives, and just this week too, deflated by the local beat cop.

I've asked myself this a thousand times. What is it about Martin that attracts me? Part of it is moments like this. No bluster, no lordly words of being a know-it-all. It's the same look Martin had outside the pub tonight, in the dance hall last year when he saw Mark dancing with me, the same look he gave me when Dan tried to haul me away last summer.

For those moments when I see – not Doctor Martin Ellingham – but Marty, the very human person with all his fragile self exposed by the look of his eyes and the set of jaw. The man who says he loves me and means it.

"What did Joe want?" I ask.

"That ass wanted medical advice."

"Tonight? Now?"

"Yes. He asked what sort of sunlamp he should buy. So he can get a sun tan."

"What?" I can sense from the set of Martin's shoulders that the spell has been broken. Our moment has ended, at least for tonight. "Well, I suppose we should say goodnight."

"Goodnight then," comes his low voice.

"We should have dinner… at my cottage some night? Soon."

"Ok."

I turn to walk away down to my cottage. But there's one thing I just have to do. I turn back to Doctor Martin Ellingham. "Martin?"

He turns and sees me smile and he smiles hesitantly.

I pull a tissue from my jeans pocket, reach up and wipe Martin's lips. "You have my lipstick all over your face." He jerks back as I wipe his lips and the most affected check.

"And Joe saw that?"

"Of course, Martin. He must have!"

"Bloody hell!" he erupts. "By tomorrow morning it will be all over town!"

I look at my watch. "It's only ten o'clock, Martin. I'd say by eleven tonight…"

"Damn! Damn it! Damn it all!"

"Are you embarrassed, Martin? Well don't be, love."

I kiss him on the cheek and laugh at Martin Ellingham; the rude, angry, prickly, uptight and delectable man that I love.


	20. Chapter 20

Monday

School, the usual morning routine – check in on teachers, review student attendance, go over the week's schedule. I had just read a note from Susan Welch's mother about an extended absence request for a family holiday. She'd filled the note with how culturally enriching the Nice, France would be for their daughter who was five.

I tapped the note with my red painted nails. Yes, sure, I thought. Unlikely as her kid couldn't sit still for five minutes and listen to her teacher let alone appreciate wine, warm water and a rocky beach, plus casinos.

The morning attendance sheet falls onto my desk, followed by the large veined hands of Maureen Treacy leaning on the messy surface – too many papers.

"Louisa!" she shouts at me. "I just heard…"

"Yes, Maureen? How are the boys by the way?"

"Oh, they're fine, growing like weeds. They almost weigh twenty pounds now." She looked down. "Ah, poor girls…"

"And the part time position's working out?"

"Oh yes, and Roger's such a big help, too. He's got them propped up in his studio introducing the little tykes to Bach, Beetles, and Bjork!"

Sounds like an unlikely combination. "Well, that's fine, Maureen, now about this list…"

"Louisa! Hang the list! I just heard that you and the doc were…" she waves her hands about and makes kissing noises.

I hang my head for a moment. "Maureen, I really don't see if it's any concern of yours! Can't some people have a little privacy?"

"Well, when I heard that you and Doc Martin…"

I put my hands on her face then look daggers her way. "Maureen, stop, just stop!" I hold up my hands too. "Now if you have any school business to discuss, then I'll be happy to oblige. Otherwise, no. Out you get!"

She straightens up and gives me an arch look. "My, my. Don't get your knickers all in a bunch, Louisa. I guess this means it's true!" She laughs and skips out the door; no mean feat for a first time mother of fifty two.

Thus began the parade – Alicia, Trudy, Ann, David, Julianne – somehow every staff member just had to come see me for 'a minute' and repeat what they heard over the last two days.

"Is it true?" and "I heard that you and the doc?" and all that sort were their questions.

When the last one left, Frank the custodian, who was all smiles and wink, wink, nudge, nudge, I put my head down on the desk and started to tear up a bit.

Then I raised my head, wiped my cheeks, shook the anger from my body and thought long and hard.

Louisa old girl, aren't you the one who went to Martin's surgery the day of the abortive Review Panel and told him you wanted him to stay? Granted that Jonathan's abrupt psychotic break ruined the moment. But didn't Martin try very hard to protect you and Pauline minutes later? By God girl the man can come through when he has to. And that climb down the cliff!

I also thought about a certain moonlit bench two nights ago when I got all sweaty and excited just when he put his hand over mine? And the kissing and hugging has been a rare thing lately and wasn't it enjoyable? Extremely?

Weren't you also the one, Louisa, to tell Peter Cronk that the loners have to let themselves be teased? Well, aren't you a loner at times? Terry, good old dad, sure helped that out didn't he? And it took years to build up the trust of this village in you. Now you're getting on the gossip train again.

And weren't you telling Martin on Friday to be strong? That it didn't hurt?

Isn't it better then to get an open smile and wink about your love life than mutters behind your back that your dad was a thief? And the genuine smile is one of approval and happiness?

Not ten minutes later, Mrs. Neale came in about her daughter.

"Good morning, Mrs. Neale," I said to the tall tweed clad woman.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Glasson, isn't a glorious day?" Her face was all sunshine and she was the sort of breathless quick woman who wears me out.

"Yes, thank you. How can I help you?"

"Oh, Emma forgot her meds today. Just some antibiotics for an ear infection. She needs to take it with lunch. Last pill of the course. Can you see to that?"

"Of course, no problem." She handed me a tiny vial and stood there. "Ehm, anything else, is there?"

"No, not really," she began, "but I want you to know, that I am absolutely thrilled for you dear!" She went on gushing. "We're all just agog! So happy for you!"

I looked at her through my bangs, now a bit askew after the desk – to – head moment. "And this is about?" I asked her, playing dumb.

"Well Louisa - you and Martin! Finally getting a bit of action! Took him long enough!"

I bit my lips and swallowed my pride. "Thank you. Now is there anything else?"

Mrs. Neale came around the desk and hugged me. "You know, sometimes, men… Now my Gerald took him years and years…"

We were interrupted by one of the fifth years. "Miss Glasson!" he yelled. "Timmy Hancock fell on the steps and teacher says he's having a fit! She says come quick!"

I grabbed the first aid kit on the way and dashed through the hall and found Timmy crumpled at the foot of the front steps in a pool of vomit. His teacher Alicia was crouching next to him.

"He's twitching again, Louisa! Feels like he's burning up!" she said laying her hand on his forehead.

It looked to me that Timmy had fallen headlong down the three steps at the front door. His classmates all in green jumpers were standing around like fans at a backyard rugby pitch. Timmy lay on his back, a pool of breakfast next to him. Alicia had bundled a sweatshirt under his head. He had a scrape on his chin and cheek, oozing red stuff. I felt his head and the kid was incredibly hot.

"Louisa!" Alicia began. "The class was just going out for playtime when Timmy stopped, fell forward and lay here puking. Then he started to twitch like this!"

I hoisted my mobile and made the call.

- x -

Mondays – I hate Mondays. There always was a crowd of patients – who either should have come on Friday, had some minor issue that did not warrant my seeing them, or some real ailment and had to wait.

Pauline was on time today, unlike last week, so we were off to a flying start. I shuffled through three patients quickly (nothing wrong with you, why didn't you see me on Friday, and a visit that I was baffled by at first).

"We were just messing around, doc, and I felt this sharp pain… well you know."

I looked at the teenage girl sitting in front of my desk. "No, I don't!" I was seated on my rolling exam chair with growing frustration with this patient.

"Yes, you do!"

I threw up my hands. "No, I don't!" I looked at the card, Annie Cradeux her name was, aged eighteen. "Can you... try to explain… what you were doing? I can't very well make a diagnosis with no information!"

"Well," she started, "me and Billy; that's Billy Tompkins, he works at the garage, was up there on the cliff walk, at one of them benches…"

"And this was when, Miss Cradeux?"

"It was Saturday, night, just past the Crab. You know where it is."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do!"

"No I don't!"

"Well that's _not_ what _I_ heard." She gave a sort of smirk. "Where you and Miss Glasson was…"

I felt the heat rise and my face grew hot. "What? You listen, girl, I've done no such thing!"

"Friday."

"You just said it was Saturday!"

"Well, it was _us_ on Saturday, _you and Louisa_ on Friday…" She looked up in horror. "Sorry, doc, well, we was uh, messing about…"

"And?"

"I've got a bruise or summat over here," and she pulled down the neck of her t-shirt to reveal a purplish mark.

I wheeled my chair over for a closer look. I observed it a as 3 cm long subcutaneous haemotoma between the trapezius and sternocleiomastoid muscles above the clavicle. In other words it was a bruise caused by the action of suction upon the human skin and tissues.

"And it hurts!" Annie wailed.

"Ah, yes." I leaned back.

"What is it?"

"Love bite." I rolled away from the girl and picked up my pen to write the diagnosis. "A hickey."

"Aren't you gonna do something for it?"

"No." I put the pen down. "Miss Cradeux…"

"Doc, is it catching?"

"NO!"

"Will I die?"

"Yes!"

"Oh Em Gee! How long have I got?" she started to tear up.

"Do you smoke or drink or do drugs?"

"Well, no… but…"

"Then you are likely to live until 80 or more unless you contract a deadly disease or die in an accident."

"Doc!" Now she was crying.

"Annie…Annie!" I yelled to get her attention. "It is simply a bruise from your boyfriend … Billy … kissing or sucking one area for longer than a few seconds – from the look of things, I'd say around three minutes. Tell him to stop."

"Forever?"

"No! Listen…" just then the phone buzzed and I heard Pauline answer. "Just ask him to take it easy. Ice may help it to fade, or you may wish to wear a high necked shirt for a few days or cover the affected area with makeup."

"Makeup on my neck?" she asked with a strange look.

Pauline came through the door in a rush. "Doc! Emergency at Portwenn School! Student's on the ground, high fever, Louisa says he's vomited and is twitching!"

Great! A real case! "Must go – emergency!" I stood and grabbed my case.

Annie was startled but went on. "But what about the other one on my…"

I ran out before I could hear the rest, thankfully.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21 – Left

I rushed to visit Isobel after school and was heading down the hospital corridor when I heard shouting and crying from near her rooms so I moved faster and burst into her room. Isobel was being pawed over by a tall dark-haired man, but she didn't seem to mind much.

"Isobel?" I asked.

She pulled her mouth from his, as he squatted next to the chair she was seated in, his arms about her shoulders. "Louisa! Oh this is fantastic! You remember Paul? Paul Hardesty?"

I didn't really but tried to sound like I did. "Oh sure, hi!" I waved sheepishly.

"Louisa Glasson, right?" the man said and let Isobel go, then rushed over and crushed me in a bear hug. "So nice to see you again."

I had a very vague recognition of seeing the man, perhaps once, for all of two or three minutes, long ago. "Didn't know you were coming… to see Isobel… and the baby."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. When Izzie called Saturday I dropped everything and got out here. Got in late last night, didn't I luv?"

Isobel (he called her Izzie?) smiled. "Bit of a surprise."

Or a shock? "So, Paul, you've come to see the baby," I said blankly. "Just swooped in from London, is it?"

"Aye! When she called about the babe I just had to come…"

Isobel looked up brightly. "Paul and I…" she reached out for his hand, "we're going to get back together."

"Oh, right. That is nice. Good for you!" I bit my tongue before I said more. Isobel had said how the man had rushed away when she revealed she was pregnant by him. Then he took up with another girl.

Paul smiled at me. "My luck, you know. I've been trying to talk to Izzie but she wouldn't answer my calls… well, you can just imagine how keen I've been to see her; what with the baby and all."

I looked at Isobel and her eyes asked me to 'play nice.' "I'm happy for both of you," I replied.

Isobel tugged at Paul's hand. "Louisa, this is all so sudden, but you know how things can go at times? You could have knocked me over with a feather when he waltzed in."

I looked hard at Isobel, her face was almost sickeningly pleased that Paul was here, although he had dumped her for months. I guess she must be desperate or hormonal.

_Now__Louisa,_ said my nagging voice, _give__Isobel__credit__for__having__some__sense!__She__'__ll__need__help__and__money__and__Paul__is__well__employed.__Didn__'__t__she__say__so__last__week?_

I counted days mentally. Yeah she told me only a few days ago and it was true. Now Isobel was all agog about the guy? I had a sneaking suspicion that from the way she was looking in awe at Paul, and he at her, that within three months she'd be up the duff. I sighed. Well, her funeral.

"I'm happy for you both, and little David too." I told them, and tried to make it sound like I meant it.

"Thank you, Louisa," said the man. He turned a charming smile to Isobel. "So, luv, what say I go and get the car?" He left the room in a hurry.

"What? You're being discharged?" I was astounded.

Isobel ducked her head. "I meant to call you; let you know, but here you are. Paul's booked a hotel down the way. We'll stay there for a few days and then back to London. He's got a really nice flat there and his mum and sisters live nearby, so I'll have plenty of help with the baby."

"If you think that's for the best," I muttered under my breath.

"What's that Louisa?" she asked.

I painted on a fake smile. "Nothing."

"All such a rush is Paul - his whole family is that way. Always on the spur of the moment, but I like planning." She ran her hand along the Moses basket where the baby lay asleep. "Well, usually," she laughed.

That made me chuckle too.

"Louisa, come here."

I walked over and she stood and gave me a hug. "Sorry this is all so sudden; the baby, Paul showing up, and…"

"It's ok, Isobel." I held my friend tightly for a moment. "Is this what you want, Isobel?"

She bit her lip and her eyes grew wet. "It'll work out. Paul just panicked back then. Men do that, you know."

Women too, I'd found out. "For your sake, I hope so." I kissed her cheek.

"We're just a bit off with men aren't we? Both of us; all things considered? So how are you doing?"

"Gosh, I'm fine. Really."

"No second thoughts?"

I chewed my lip before answering. "No… well, maybe a few." One was that maybe I should not have gone to bed with Martin.

"Naw! I think you should have shagged him a lot more, then you'd still be with him!' yelled my internal nag.

I tried to force a smile back to my face, but my handbag started twisting, almost by itself – a nervous habit. The smile failed and I started to bite my lips.

Isobel brushed hair from my face and patted my cheek.. "You'll do fine, Louisa. If I know you, you're made of steel."

"I hope so," I told her and hugged her tightly.

Paul found us like that when he came back with a nurse to complete the hospital checkout. So I pretty much stood in the background while forms where signed, pamphlets handed over, and general instructions given. I helped Paul load the rental car with Isobel's things, including her suitcase which I brought from the pub yesterday.

"Thanks for caring for my Izzie," said Paul.

"My pleasure," I said. "She's a lovely girl and you have an awfully cute baby."

"Aye, you're right. I want you to know… I was a total arse to leave her like that. I've seen the error of my ways. She'll never want for nothing; I promise."

I squeezed his arm. "I'm sure you'll do your best," I lied. I didn't trust him from all the dirt Isobel had passed on to me over the last few months.

I stood and waved as they drove off, my ears ringing with promises of phone calls, emails and visits. Somehow I knew that good intentions would suffer from middle-of-the night feedings and learning how to be a mum and partner.

"Bye!" I called to them and waved myself silly as they drove away.

A nurse's aide stood there holding the wheelchair which they'd insisted Isobel ride in. The woman sighed wearily.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Nothing. Friend of theirs?"

"Yes, hers. Why?"

The woman rolled her eyes. "I've seen this happen before. The poor mum out to here," she indicated a pregnant belly with her hands, "all alone, then the man shows up all hearts and flowers." She shook her head sadly. "I'll bet in four or five months, she'll be on her own, with that young'un to raise herself - all alone." She peered at her watch. "Oh, my break time! See you."

"Bye," I called to her as the woman walked back inside. I turned to catch a glimpse of Isobel as the car went down the drive, but she didn't look back, as I waved, so I was left all alone standing on the hospital portico, feeling quite deserted.


	22. Chapter 22

Triage

Penhale wasn't quite right, but looking in they hallway, you might imagine that. I could see five students, the class that was just shepherded indoors; two boys and three girls.

Three were actively vomiting and another two standing as if they just had or were about to. The two standing were a girl and a boy. The girl looked at Joe and me as we stared through the door at the scene straight out of some gastrointestinal Hades.

"Doc," the standing girl yelled "help!" and then she started heaving. There were also screams from other kids at the bend of the hall. A head or two popped round the corner once in a while and uttered words like "Oooh" and "gross!"

The teacher there, Julianne, was trying to herd the students away from the scene. "Back to the room, now!" I heard her shout. "Get going!"

Penhale grabbed my arm. "Doctor, I wouldn't go in there if I was you!"

"Joe, do we have a choice?" And pushing him ahead of me we entered. The wooden floors of the old school building were highly polished and the pools of stomach contents made footing tricky.

A quick look and I saw that all the students, though being ill, were awake and apparently aware of their surroundings. One had managed to find a bin and was perched on the edge. Two others were sitting and one was lying down. The standing girl looked long and hard at me as I skirted the worst of the GI deposits.

"Doc?" she began. "I can't remember eating anything funny today, just the usual oatmeal and juice." She gulped but went on. "Nothing tasted off, either."

Good girl. "Good info…"

"Emma," she said, "I'm Emma. Course there was that pill..."

"Pill, what pill?"

"I got a terrible earache last week, remember, and you have me takin' some anti… antib…"

"Antibiotics. Yes. I do remember." I looked at her face which was bright and thoughtful. "You should be done by now."

"I uh forgot to take one yesterday, so my mum said I could take it with lunch."

"Ok." I saw Joe come back pushing two garbage bins.

"Very good, Joe…" I gulped as my recent sickness tried to recur.

"Here, doctor this might help…" Then he started to gulp and gasp at the rich stench. "Doctor, I didn't sign up for this!" he yelled.

"Martin!" I heard Louisa yell from outdoors. "Timmy's sitting up!"

A tall woman rushed round the corner asking, "Emma, dearest, what's wrong!"

Penhale started getting sick too; at least it sounded like it. I turned my head away but the sounds were obvious.

"Martin!" Louisa called, "come quick!"

I thought long and hard about what has happening here.

Timmy – likely a seizure from his high temperature. But five other children, plus our sturdy constable Joe Penhale, all suffering emesis nearly at once? Rubbish. Can't be food poising, can it? Unlikely. Unless all these kids plus Joe got a bad batch of fish and chips, possibly last night.

Was there some other agent at work, say carbon monoxide? But it's quite warm; the heating plant can't be running. But maybe there's a blocked flue on a water heater?

Then Penhale starts to heave too? It does not make any sense!

Louisa called my name again.

- x -

Tommy stirred a bit then moved his arms and legs. "My head…" he began then started to cry.

"Sh, sh," said Alicia. "It's all right. You just took a fall is all."

"We don't know that!" I hissed at her.

Timmy sat up, looked at the mess down his jumper. "Is this mine?" he asked.

"Yes, dear," I answered trying not to get sick myself.

"MARTIN!" I called again. "Come out here!"

And here he came with a look on his face of relief. He inhaled a deep lungful of air and blew it out.

"Rough in there…" he started then came to Timmy. "How do you feel?"

"Ok, I guess. Well my stomach hurts and I got a headache."

"Now wonder…" Martin began. "Remember anything?"

Timmy shook his head. "Oh, dizzy. No I don't."

"Can you sit up yourself?"

Martin waved Alicia and I back and Timmy did it. Sat by himself.

"Good…" started Martin. He looked into his eyes. "I think you have a viral illness. Feel hot, do you?"

The boy wiped his forehead. "Yes, I do. Can I have some water?"

Martin gave me a look. "We can try." He turned to me. "Louisa, whatever you do, don't go into the uhm…" he hooked a thumb to the school door.

"That bad?" I turned up my nose. "Well then."

"You have no idea."

"Yes, dear, whatever you say. But what about Penhale?"

Martin grinned his sardonic grin. "I think he can take care of himself. Serves him right."

I heard a siren approach. The ambulance at last. Martin crouched by Timmy as more wailing began inside – crying, shouting too.

Penhale came to the door. "Doc," he yelled. "What the hell's going on?"

The med techs swarmed in – two of them. Martin started to bark orders.

"This one," he pointed to Timmy, "has had a febrile seizure his temp was over 39 when I checked a few minutes ago. He also got a bump on the head when he fell. Oozing wounds, erh…" he swallowed hard, "on his cheek and chin, best set him up for transport. I want an X-ray and a full blood work up when you get to Wadebridge. And watch it there! You don't want to slip in the uhm… GI contents."

"Right doc," said the older of the two. "Alright sonny, we got you. Now what about…"

Martin grabbed the other medic. "Before you get too engrossed I this one, I have at least five more for you!"

"Five!" the man yelled. "My god, doc what the hell is happening here? Do we need to mobilize?"

"No, think not." Came his answer.

"Martin, are you sure?" I shook my head. "I've got what, six children down with what ever this is, and you don't seem concerned!"

"No, Louisa, I am concerned. Oh, and on this one will need a tox screen and blood gases, just to be sure. Check for meningitis as well. Now about the others…"

A tweed clad figure came out of the door. Mrs. Neale, Emma's mom stood in the doorway and leaned against the blue frame with a strange look on her face. She was white as a sheet.

Alicia went to her. "Mrs. Neale, you don't look so good," she said and took her hand.

"My Emma seems to be over getting sick, and so is that policeman," Mrs. Neale blurted out. "But I'm not so sure about me!" Then she heaved.

Martin stood there in the center of it all and smiled. The sun shone on his short hair and seemed to make a halo round his head, at least that's what I thought. His tie was askew, his shirt looked soiled with who knew what, his shoes were a wreck, and he stood there smiling?

"Of course!" he shouted. "Too obvious!"


	23. Chapter 23

Diagnoses

When I was a medical student, we'd play a game which is not as odd as it sounds. I and the other students would make up cards full of symptoms, and dump then into a box. The game was to withdraw a card, read the symptoms of disease aloud, and then determine a diagnosis.

If you were wrong you had to drink a beer. Since I as never very fond of beer, and I had an excellent mind for minutia, I rarely lost. After a while the other students would play – and they _would_ drink the beer – but they would not let _me_ play.

"Nah, Martin always wins; you tosser!" they'd jeer.

Those voices from long ago were echoing through my head as I formulated the most likely scenario that would put down six students and two adults. Not counting my own panic attack and loosing my breakfast.

Timmy was too easy, almost. But the rest of them? What clinched it was Penhale. It all came down to Penhale.

But this Neale woman? She was something entirely different? Had to be…

Louisa was still crouching by Timmy, now sitting up, and seemingly alright. Miraculous! I wish I had been able to cure the boy, but it resolved by itself, nearly. That was my first clue.

I was sorting things out when Louisa launched herself upright and got into my face.

"Martin? You in there?" She tapped on my head. "MARTIN!" she yelled.

I reacted by drawing back and grabbing her by the wrist. "Louisa? I can HEAR YOU!"

"Then why are we SHOUTING!" She looked up sheepishly and lowered her voice. "Sorry. So what was all this about?"

I released her arm, feeling like I didn't want to do that. But with the disaster still about us… "Erh, look. Here's Timmy, fever, fell, vomited, and twitched for ten minutes or so in a coma like state. Then he regains consciousness, seemingly spontaneously."

Penhale dragged himself outdoors and slumped onto the low wall by the wrought iron fence. "Doc? What about me?"

"I'll get to you, Joe. Just hang on."

"Hang on, he says, just hang on…" he muttered. "Oh all right," he said but he looked disgusted.

But Louisa stood right in front of me. "One down, Martin. The rest?"

"The other children…" I watched as the medic and the Alicia person helped Timmy onto a gurney. "They all saw what happened to Timmy."

"Yes, so?" interrupted Penhale. "What about me?"

I turned my grim face to his. "Joe, you panicked!"

"Panicked? Now wait a moment…" he said then stopped. "Oh. You mean?"

"I do."

Louisa shouted, "Would you two MEN stop talking in code and tell me what's happened here?"

I turned to Louisa, now standing with hands on hips and a defiant look on her face. I was certain that her blood pressure was elevated and if she kept scowling like that she was likely to sprain a facial muscle.

"Shut up, Louisa! Now back to Timmy," I went on. "Here's…"

- x -

There are times that I can pine for a glimpse of Martin as well as outright desire him so badly I just can't stand it.

Then there are times, like these, he can be so obstinate and way too technical.

And somewhere between the two… well. I could stand it no longer. But when he told me to shut up, I lost it.

"Martin!" I shouted. "I've got six students, a parent, a policeman, and a doctor, who have all gotten sick in my school this morning, and you won't, or can't, tell me what's happened?"

He had that look, the chicken bone thing again. How is it possible the Martin could be so… _suave_… in private on Friday night… and look now like he couldn't speak?

"Well, er…uh…" he began. "I'm not absolutely sure…"

"Yeah," muttered Joe, "like I believe that!"

I crossed my arms. "Damn it, Martin! Just tell us, won't you?"

Even the ashen-faced Mrs. Neale got a word in. "I didn't even eat breakfast this morning, so it can't be what I ate! Can it? Just been feeling a bit off, lately."

"That's it!" Doc Martin cried.

"Martin?" now I was cross. "Do we need to evacuate, shut the school or what!"

Martin stiffened his back, and whirled to point at the ambulance, where Timmy was being loaded inside. "Alright!" he began. "Timmy, is sick – a viral illness - his body temperature grew hot to combat the viral strain, so hot that he suffered a febrile seizure! Which caused him to suffer vomiting, fainting, and he struck his head when he fell down stairs. The fact that he has recovered so quickly from the seizure and semi-coma confirms it, although we'll have to do tests…"

"That's one, doctor!" Joe put his oar in.

"Then his classmates…" Martin pointed towards the school door, "Seeing their fellow lying in a pool of half-digested breakfast, grew nauseous, and in fleeing the scene, panicked… and vomited. They are suffering hysterical vomiting. I'm surprised that one or two of that lot haven't fainted as well!"

"That's the kids then!" shouted Alicia. "But what about…" she waved a hand to Joe and Mrs. Neale.

Martin aimed his stare at Joe Penhale, Portwenn PC. "Now, Joe on the other hand…"

"Yeah, doctor? What's up with me?"

"Yes, Joe. What about you? Martin went on. "I strongly suspect that the smell of the emesis from five children in that narrow hallway is what got you! You too…"

"No!" Joe shouted.

"Yes! You too panicked and began vomiting, sympathetically!"

Joe looked around sheepishly. "God if word of this gets around…"

I said, "Alright, Martin, that's the kids and Joe, but what Mrs. Neale? She and I were speaking just minutes before Timmy's, erh, accident; what's wrong with her?"

Martin whirled in a triumphant way and gave me a huge smile, then he turned to Mrs. Neale and his face dropped. "Yes, Mrs. Neale. Something entirely different." He strode to where she was propped by the fence, her pale face a startling contrast to her red tweeds.

"Mrs. Neale, I saw your daughter Emma last week for an ear infection, and antibiotic treatment was started. I believe that course of drugs has been successful. But…"

"But…" said the frightened woman.

"I observed last week in my surgery that your face was pale and the veins of your hands slightly enlarged… so why would you get sick this morning?"

"I don't know!"

"You said yourself you couldn't eat breakfast today. You do know why!"

"No, I don't."

"Mrs. Neale, I know that you are married, that you are 32 years old, and that you dye your hair. You are also the mother of a ten-year old child. I also know that the material of your blouse appears to be stretched. Either you have not followed the laundry instructions, or..."

"Oh, god no," she began. "I wondered, I mean…"

"Yes, Mrs. Neale, your breasts are more than slightly enlarged, therefore your last menses was some time ago… a test should confirm it… and you are approximately nine weeks pregnant. Your vomiting, Mrs. Neale, is morning sickness!"


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24 – Blindness

The ambulance finally pulled away with Timmy, after we contacted his father who met them before they drove to hospital for tests. Martin thought it prudent to pull out the stops. I head him muttering about ruling out meningitis.

David our janitor was spreading a liberal coating of a product he called 'Urps-up" on the hallway so he could dispose of the disgusting mess there. He was whistling cheerily away, and I asked him how he could stand the mass spill.

He grinned and stuck out his tongue. "This stuff, miss? Naw, this isn't so bad at all! Now when I was in the Royal Navy and we was a bucketing along through the South Atlantic at flank speed on the way to the Falklands, now that was a mess."

He laughed and went on. "Why miss, we had white water coming over the bow and hittin' the bridge windows ninety feet above the sea. And the ship was rollin' and shakin' in a viscous cross swell. That was a mess! There was a whole company of Royal Marines a swimmin' in this sort of stuff in the 'tween deck berthing space. Now that was a MESS!" And plying a shovel and broom, went back to work.

I left David and walked outside. PC Joe Penhale and Martin were having a confab.

Joe gave Martin a conspiratorial wink. "Now, doctor," he said, "I trust you won't be telling anyone, I was uh…"

"No," interrupted Martin.

"...indisposed. Would you?"

"No, I won't."

"Well, you know I wouldn't want it said that I was unable to stand the sight of a little…"

"Shut up, Joe! Now clear out!" yelled Martin.

"Ok, doctor." Joe gave me a bit of sheepish smile. "I'll be leavin', you two… to uh…"

I glared at him. "To what, Joe?"

Joe looked from me to Martin and back to me. "Right!" Then he walked away. "Doctor!" he called over his shoulder, "you and me - the dynamic duo once again!"

"Sodding oaf," said Martin through clenched teeth.

"Oh, Martin let him go. Joe is just…"

"Irritating?" replied the doctor.

I looked at him. "Now how can you see that in other people, and not…"

"What?"

"Nothing," I said and patted him on the arm. The patrol rover started up and drove away with Joe happily waving to us. Joe might be irritating, but he is friendly. I just wished he hadn't surprised us quite the way he had on Friday night, and just when things were getting _interesting_. Very!

The children inside had been tended to by the teaching staff, who thought it best to send them home, if possible. Maureen and Trudy managed to reach all their parents, and of course Emma's mother was right here. In fact the poor woman was still perched on the wall by the fence. She looked rather overcome.

Alicia was sitting by her, patting her hand. I went to them as Martin started to pack up his medical case.

"Mrs. Neale, are you alright?" I asked her gently.

Alicia looked up and mouthed the word 'no,'

Stacy Neale looked at me and there were tears running down her face.

"Oh, Mrs. Neale – Stacy – what is the matter?"

She twisted a tissue into a knot and dabbed at her face, where her eye makeup was starting to run. "Oh…" she started, "Frank and I have been trying for years… and we'd given up. Of course," she blew her nose, "we have Emma, but she's ten now. Always wanted a little sister or brother for her."

Alicia hugged Stacy. "And now you will. It'll be ok."

"Sure dear." I added. "What say we…"

Martin butted in. "Before you three females get all gooey, Mrs. Neale, I'd like you to come to surgery and we can perform a pregnancy test. Although I'm certain it will confirm my…"

I blew up. "Martin for God's sake, can you give us a little privacy! Back off!"

He did and went to the wall and looked out over the harbor. From the rigidity of his body he was clearly most disturbed.

"Honestly," started Alicia, "he can be so odd at times."

"Only odd?" laughed Stacy. "I'd add weird, peculiar, strange, mean, rude…"

"Now wait just a minute, you two," I began, "I'll have you know…"

"What's that Louisa? You are defending Martin?" Stacy smiled through her tears.

Alicia helped her. "And you know just last week he was so loud at a home visit to my neighbor, I could hear every word he said, right through the wall! Practically screaming, he was."

I felt my hands clench into fists. "Alicia, I know for a fact that the cottage on one side of you is empty, and on the other side lives old Mr. Carnes, and he's as deaf as post! Martin, erh, Doctor Martin, was only speaking up so the poor man could hear!"

Stacy and Alicia gave one another a look. The type of look that people give each other when they are thinking the same thought.

"What?" I asked.

Their communal moment continued.

"Come on – out with it!"

"Oh, nothing," began Alicia.

Stacy finished for her. "Just wondering!"

"Well the two of you can just go on wondering all you like! Martin Ellingham is a brilliant doctor, and if he wasn't we'd have had to ship the whole lot of you off to hospital!"

"Don't get so angry, Louisa! Just…" added Stacy.

"Listen, Stacy hadn't you trot over to surgery so you can wee in a bottle of something?"

"Louisa! No need to be rude, dear. The time will come, when you might be right where I am now." She patted her belly. "And I don't mean sitting on a stone wall, either."

"Oh, yes… so sorry, Stacy. But it's been a very stressful morning."

"Yes, it has." Stacy stood. "Oh, I'd better get my coat; I left it inside. And I'll say goodbye to Emma then off to wee in a bottle!" She walked into the building with a confident stride.

Alicia was giving me the other half of that funny look.

"You too?" I asked.

"No, just…" she turned to go. "I think you should go tell Doc Martin how much you appreciate his…" she grinned a little then went on, "amazing powers of investigation." She wrapped it up with a huge grin.

As my fellow teacher went to the building, I turned and went to Martin. He'd turned as well and was watching me. I went close to him, and he opened his mouth.

"Louisa, where did Mrs. Neale go?"

"Said she left her coat and to say goodbye to her daughter."

"Well…"

"Certainly been an interesting morning hasn't it?"

"Yes." He looked down at me. "I, erh, was wondering…"

"Yes, Martin?" I batted my eyes at him. I don't think he noticed.

"Do you think… that we should, well, I mean we might…" He stopped then and the silence grew.

I could see a bead of sweat grow on his forehead – his large forehead. The one that I kissed so well and long the other night. "Yes, Martin I think we should."

"Should what?"

"You know, go on."

"Well, I was thinking…" he cleared his throat. "You should probably…"

"Yes, Martin?"

"Have your janitor completely disinfect the hallways of the entire school, and the classrooms, as well as the grounds out of doors. No telling what may or may not have been tracked in or out."

I could only sigh. "Oh! Of course, if you think so…" Damn it! I thought he was asking about dinner. Ah, Louisa, you'll have to invite him. Well you did mention dinner at your cottage. But back to the present… dinner must wait. "I'll have David get on that."

"Well, then I'll be off." He picked up his bag.

"Thanks, Martin. If you hadn't been here… it would have been a real disaster."

"You don't call six students and two adults vomiting at once a disaster?"

I could only laugh.

"What's so funny?"

What an obtuse man. "Oh Martin!" I stretched my neck to kiss his cheek. Then the smell hit me. "Martin, dear, you smell like," I grimaced, "vomit."

"Sorry. I'd better, uhm…" he started, but then he kissed my hair – lucky hair.

Then off he went and I could only stand there watching him go with my heart pounding. Dear awkward and intelligent Martin marching away. Some of the sunshine went with him

-x-

That was a strange moment – one that I keep having with Louisa. But Friday night's embraces came to me as I strode across the schoolyard, medical case banging against my leg. I simply must figure out a way to manage to kiss that woman more often. I do love her, but I'm not sure that she loves me.

Then something occurred to me. Something so obvious, I had totally missed it.

I turned round and Louisa was standing there watching me go. She waved.

"Louisa?" I asked. "Did you just call me dear?"

-x-

I'd filled the bin with the worst of the kid's vomit. I don't care what Doc Martin said. Seems to me it was all some plot to make more work for me. Hysteria my arse! The floor was almost clean now; well not clean enough to eat off of, but the worst of the mess was gone.

Almost as bad as those Royal Marines on the _HMS Reliable_. The best of all was old Seargent-Major Tompkins lying in a great pool of the stuff as the ship pitched and rolled. Him always so proper - uniform just so. He wasn't that spit and polish right then – more spit than anything! Hah!

I shoveled more of the goo into the wheelie bin and sighed. It's always 'David do this' and 'David do that' in this school. Hard to get a bit of respect from these young teachers. By they sure do rely on me to keep the old school in some sort of shape!

I spied Doc Martin and Louisa standin' so close like. Almost like they was – well look at that! Miss Louisa did kiss him, almost, although she doesn't look happy about it!

And Martin, that rude tosser, now he kisses her on the top of the head!

Well. I never! Seems like there's somethin' going on between those two.

He'd an odd duck – surgeon afraid of the red stuff – and with those wide ears and short hair – not much to look at! Always decked out in a suit too, almost like a bloody uniform. But he is a wonder at doctorin'.

Now Louisa, she's nice on the eyes like, but by God she has her opinions, and she's not afraid to voice her mind either! She can run the men off! And there hasn't been anybody flockin' about her recently either, except for that architect from London, but he's been gone since last year.

I peer into the wheelie bin. God this stuff does stink!

Through the open door, I can see Martin and Louisa staring at each other in the schoolyard. Poor buggers both of them. Blind fools.

Well they say that love is blind and lovers cannot see. Beauty's in the eye of the beholder, and all that.

- The End -

_Dear Doc Martin fans, this story is set in season three, after the profession of love by Martin to Louisa. _

_A big thanks to the creative powers behind Doc Martin, writers, staff, producers, directors, tech people, and the cast for making the TV universe of Port Wenn and the characters of Martin and Louisa and the rest so compelling, interesting, and even addictive._

_Also, thanks to all of you, the readers of fan fiction, for enthusiastic feedback, all the encouragement and tips, as well as the sheer fun that this story has been for me to write. _

_Cheers,_

_Rob_


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